Blood Kin
by Mediancat
Summary: The sequel to Death Becomes Him. While attempting to help a friend take care of a serious problem, Veronica deals with her senior year, the aftermath of her shooting, the Echolls attempted murder trial, and all the other things that make her life the madcap whirligig of fun it so often is.
1. The Path to God Is

Mr. MacLay: This is insane! You people have no right to interfere in Tara's affairs. We are her blood kin. Who the hell are you?

Buffy: We're family.

– _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, "Family"

XXXXXXXXXX

Hey, folks! Been a while, but I promised y'all a sequel to Death Becomes Him, and this is it. Just before the debut of The Movie seemed like a good time to start (and as a Kickstarter backer for that, I take a tiny amount of credit.) There will be thrills, chills, and spills aplenty.

Note that this isn't a crossover; it's strictly Veronica Mars, although Veronica, per my characterization, is a _Buffy_ fan no matter what universe she's in.

_Veronica Mars_ was created by Rob Thomas. I ain't him.

XXXXXXXXX

So, let's rewind, shall we?

Aaron Echolls dead; Cassidy Casablancas dead; my shot shoulder healing; Trina Echolls arrested; my mom still in a coma she's never likely to come out of.

But: I have friends. And a boyfriend. And it's generally, though hardly universally, accepted that Aaron killed Lilly Kane.

Bad things happen. Good things happen. Which is an uptick for me, who until fairly recently was getting about ten of the former for every one of the latter.

And now, shortly after my shoulder had healed to the point where I could actually use that arm again, I get a mysterious note from someone asking me to meet them in the journalism room after school. So I show up there, open the door, and get . . .

"I was hoping it would be you."

"Well, who else would it be, Meg?" I asked. "You invited me here, at this time. Unless you thought maybe I was one of the custodians?"

"I wouldn't worry about the custodians," she said. "Or Clemmons, or almost anyone else."

"Who were you worried about?" I asked.

"That's why I invited you here." A deep breath. "It's time, Veronica."

Note the use of that word? Veronica? That's an indication we've reached serious business, knock off the smartass crap, time.

So I knocked off the smartass crap. I know, I know, difficult for me, but despite my reputation I am in fact perfectly capable of taking things seriously.

The trial of Trina Echolls, for instance. I was going to be deadly serious about that. I was going to pay close attention to the whole thing and do whatever I could to make sure she went down, and went down hard, for what she'd done - not to me, but to Lynn. You've heard of serious as a heart attack? Trina's going to wish I was being that lighthearted.

Veronica Mars, girl detective, holds grudges. I have friends, my life doesn't completely and totally suck beyond the ability of words to describe, but I don't appreciate people shooting at my friends, never mind me, whether their reason was "I want you dead" or "I want lots and lots of publicity."

Anyway, that? Not particularly important at the moment. What – who – was important, at the moment, was sitting directly in front of me.

And I was in serious business mode at the moment. I took a couple of steps over to the table, sat down, and said, "Okay. You asked me here."

"Do you know I why I asked you here?"

I bit off a snarky response like, "No, I left my telepathy powers in the car," and simply said, "I think I have some idea. But I'd like to hear you confirm it."

Meg chuckled, though there wasn't a lot of humor in it. "Let me rephrase that. Do you know why I asked you to meet me _here_? As in, in the journalism room at high school, and not a classroom, or Java the Hut, or some random street corner?"

I thought for a second. "Because it's somewhere under your control?"

"Not quite. It's under Duncan's control. But the point is, it's not under _their_ control. It's not somewhere they could ever control, or think of controlling."

"So we could have just as easily met at the Echolls house, or my Dad's office."

"Yep. Except I wouldn't want them overhearing. Not that I don't trust your Dad, but -"

"Don't worry about offending me. I get where you're coming from. And on behalf of my Dad: No offense taken." I wasn't going to speak on behalf of Lynn Echolls, but I was fairly sure she wouldn't have been offended either.

"Good." A deep breath. "I need your help."

"I figured as much. Is this about what you didn't want to talk about?"

"It is." A few more deep breaths; like voluntary hyperventilating. "You were right. My parents are abusive."

I hate it when I'm right sometimes, I really do. "Yeah. So. What do you need me to do? Because I have Weevil Navarro on speed-dial."

No, I wasn't going to have Weevil kill Meg's parents. I don't think he would. Weevil's no great respecter of law and order, but he draws the line at outright murder.

Case in point: former PCH'er Armando Alvarado. Armando's the bastard who, when we were all scrambling around trying to find Trina before she killed Lynn (not that she was going to, but we didn't know that at the time), decided to sell us out to her, taking her bribe in exchange for cluing her in that Logan and I were on our way up to the Echolls hunting lodge.

That pissed off Weevil two ways: One, by disobeying orders, and two, by selling out a friend of his. I told Dad, in the aftermath of the Trina thing, that I didn't give a damn if Weevil tied Armando up, put him in a sack, and threw him in the Pacific, as long as he didn't get caught. Armando didn't end up having to learn to breathe underwater, but he did end up beaten within an inch of his life and told he had about ten minutes to get the hell out of Neptune, and by the way, that bike you're riding and all the money you got on you belong to the PCH'ers, so have a nice walk, and if we see you again, you're a dead man, _pendejo_, got it? 

So if Weevil didn't kill Armando, he's not going to kill the Manning Family.

He _might _be persuaded to scare them, though.

But Meg was shaking her head. "No. I don't want them dead. And besides, it would be impossible to put the fear of God into them. I don't think even your father could pull it off."

Okay, now that I had a problem with; Dad could put the fear of God into anyone short of Wolverine or _Buffy_'s Giles. Still, this was very much not the issue at the moment. "Why?"

"The path to God is paved with righteousness." She said it like she was quoting someone. "That's what we all have to write. In books that Dad and Mom keep. Thousands of times. Until we accept it. Until we live it and love it. Until we accept that God has a plan for our lives and that that plan has nothing to do with having our minds or opinions or anything beyond find a nice, righteous man, and settling down to pop out lots of babies, who of course will be raised the same way, because Grandpa and Grandma will see to that."

That Meg sounded no less cheery and perky than normal, even if that perkiness came with a side order of acid so strong it could've burned a hole through Mount Everest, made what she said even more chilling.

She kept going, "But it's not just that. It's that we're_ punished_ if we misbehave." I looked at her arms and legs. "Not beaten. They'd never do that. 'Spare the rod, spoil the child,' but we're not children anymore."

"How -"

"No," Meg said. "I can't go there. Not yet. But it happens."

And this explained it. "This is why you wanted me to teach you how to be a PI."

"Yes. I need to save them. I _have _to save them." She put her hands on mine. "Will you help me?"

"Do you need to ask?" I said. "Like I said, Meg. You have friends too."

"So, what do we do?" she asked.

I'm good at planning, but this is going to take a little more work than storming the Echolls mansion or setting up Beaver with a toilet-cam. "I don't know. Yet," I added when her face fell. "But I can guarantee you one thing."

"What?"

"I will."


	2. Normal Isn't the Word

"I will."

Easy to say, hard to pull off, especially over a summer where we're about to be scattered hither and yon and I'm back to being able to pull regular hours working for Dad.

Before you get the wrong idea, Dad's not making me; I'm not exactly volunteering (girl's gotta get paid somehow) but he didn't exactly drag me to the office and order me to fill out paperwork for him all summer, either. I want to do it. He still thinks he's going to stop me from following in his footsteps, but really, I like doing it, I love him, and it's not like I want to be a lawyer or anything.

Wallace and Mac aren't going anywhere, at least not for more than a couple of weeks. They're working, but that still gives us plenty of quality hangout time. Weevil and I aren't exactly the hangout type, but he's doing double duty, working as a mechanic and leading the PCH'ers in the art of petty criminality.

The 09'ers, though – Lynn's still talking to anyone in the media who's still willing to listen about Aaron killing Lilly, and Logan's going along with her, as much as he possibly can.

This? Blessed by me, if you were wondering. I may have active teenage hormones (oh boy, do I), but this is _way_ more important. We need to make sure that, even if Trina manages to make her trial a platform to tell everyone how Aaron Echolls was the second coming, that no one will believe her.

Duncan's going to be in and out of town, as Celeste figures the best way to get through Jake Kane's jail sentence and the attending and very much unwanted (but equally oh so _very much_ deserved) publicity is to fade out for as long as it takes Jake to get out and the noise to die off. Duncan's independent enough of them (and pissed off enough at them for assuming he murdered his sister) that he's not going to go with her for the whole summer, but he doesn't want to be sole focal point of a press corps eager to ask him questions both about his father and his sister's murder, which is why he's going to be bouncing back and forth.

And Meg – well, her parents aren't shuttling her off for the whole summer, either, the way they're doing with her sister Lizzie, at least, so that's good. – for Meg, anyway, but apparently Lizzie's going to a "camp" of some sort where they're going to teach her to straighten up and fly right and behave as God (and for God, read a whackadoodle version of Him) "intends."

Which doesn't mean that Meg's summer isn't heavily scheduled out; if Duncan's not in town, Meg's not going to get an ounce of freedom, never mind the ability to contact weirdos like me. Between us, Mac and I have half a dozen ways to bypass that, under normal "protective parent" circumstances. But for parents like these, normal isn't the word. When I say they have every second of her time planned, I mean it.

The scary thing is, these aren't Meg's parents worrying something's going on and looking to fix it by any means necessary; these are Meg's parents just being themselves.

Congratulations, Jake, Celeste; you've just been moved down the list of Neptune's worst parents to at least fourth and fifth. (Aaron Echolls. Duh. In case you were wondering, and you really shouldn't have been.) At least Jake and Celeste genuinely seem to love their children, even if they show it by way of minor felonies. The Manning girls are all puppets,and they're supposed to be puppets for the rest of their natural lives.

During finals week, during lunch, Duncan and I talked about the situation, well away from the prying eyes and ears of anyone who might be tempted to listen in. Logan didn't know what was going on, but he, Wallace and Mac happily kept half an eye out in case it looked like anyone was interested.

Meg, for her part, was working on an interview for her last newscast of the year, so she wasn't at lunch. In case you were wondering.

"So," I said as I sat down. "Welcome to my world."

Duncan opened his mouth, closed it, and then said, "I was going to tell you not to be funny, but I can tell from the look on your face that you're not trying to be."

"Not in the least," I said. "It was more like my trademark bitter cynicism."

"If you're worried -"

About what, Duncan? You've been dealing with knowing about this for, as near as I can tell, a couple of months now, and your relationship's still strong. I said, "I'm not worried about anything. The cynicism was more like, deal with my shooter, rescue Lynn Echolls, and is it done? Nope. It's never done."

"Did you not want to do this right now?" From his tone, it was part concern and part annoyance.

"Ideally? I'd rather it not have happened at all. But we don't live in that world. And I promised Meg I'd be there when she needed me, and this is when she needs me. So don't worry about it."

Of course, I would have liked some time off. While I was at it, I'd take that pony I was sure Dad was never going to buy me.

But never let it be said that Veronica Mars doesn't stick by her friends. Well, never let it be said again, anyway. I'm going to be making a conscious effort to stop this idea that my friends exist for whatever I can get out of them.

Doesn't mean I'm going to stop hitting up Wallace and Mac for favors now and again. Hey, I gotta be me.

"Any ideas yet?"

"Plenty. Most of them involve you. From what Meg said, I'm getting the impression that the only free time she's going to have this summer is when and wherever she's going to be with you. So listen. And pass on anything you can. Okay?"

"Okay. And for the free time, she won't be getting much of that. Even with Dad going to jail, the Mannings still think I'm worth their daughter's time. But not so much that they're giving even me unlimited access."

"Enough to pass information back and forth?" I ate a french fry.

"Yeah. They're stuck between wanting to control Meg and not wanting to blow this chance for her to marry rich."

"Good. You know what I mean." I took a deep breath. "You still know more than me. Has she mentioned any physical evidence she could get? I'm not asking what it is, just asking if she's brought it up."

"Yes."

"Is there any way she can get it to you?"

"I get the impression the parents keep the evidence she's told me about under lock and key."

"Locks can be picked."

"And set up so that it's fairly obvious when something's missing."

I sighed. "Okay, harder, but not undoable."

"I don't see how," Duncan said.

With a slight tone of mock offense in my voice, I said, "Oh ye of little faith. Maybe it can be dummied up – or a full duplicate made. Maybe," I said, flashing back to when Logan burned the drawers full of his father's pool house videotapes, "The area could be trashed and a few items 'disappear' in the trashing." I'd saved the drawer Lilly's tape would have been in – on instinct at the time, though as it turned out? Good instinct.

"Their security system's pretty tight," Duncan said. "It'd have to happen when they were actually out of town."

"Okay, file that as a possibility. Mac – and no, she doesn't know anything everyone else doesn't know, that Meg's parents are fascists and Meg wants a way of trying to communicate, is working on something electronic."

"You're thinking of wiring her?"

"It had crossed my mind. I'm going to need a lot more details from her, details she hasn't given me yet, and I'm not pressuring her; I trust her to go at her own pace, here. I also trust her to do some of these things herself. That's why she wanted me to train her, I'm guessing, so she wouldn't need to rely on me to do it for her."

"How good is she?" Duncan seemed nervous. I could understand why.

"She solved the dog case mostly on her own, and she managed to browbeat Tad into backing off Carmen. Not the way I would have handled it – she's less subtle than I am – but like I told her, the important thing about a case is solving it. No one's handing out style points."

"Okay. This, though -" He didn't need to complete the sentence. This is at a whole other level, and I'm not downplaying dognapping or getting your rep ruined by your amateur semi-porn being posted on the web. Still.

"She's good, Duncan."

"Okay. I trust you. I trust her. I'm just doing the other half."

"Cut the cards?"

"Verify."

"Got it. One more thing. An absolute last-ditch backup. When's Meg's birthday?"

"She was 17 May 10."

"And your birthday's like mine, in August. You'd be more likely to convince your parents than Meg would."

"Convince them to do what?"

"Let you get married."


	3. Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire?

Vanessa Mencken and Jessamyn von Esterhaus are my creations; both were introduced in Death Becomes Him. By the way: Pun intended. You'll know what I mean.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Married?" Duncan said, loudly enough that half the lunch area stared at us. Madison Sinclair and Vanessa Mencken gave us twin smirks; Cole looked gratified; Caz and Casey Gant looked confused; and Carrie Bishop just gave us a dirty look before making a production of standing up and walking away.

Logan came up and said quietly, "Not what it sounds like, I hope?"

"Of course not," I said. "I'd marry you and have him on the side. Everyone knows that."

"Not what it sounds like?" he repeated, a trifle irritably. Right; wrong person to tease about.

I said soberly, "Not what it sounds like."

"I didn't think so. Explanation later?"

"As much as I can," I said. "It's case-related."

"Ah," he said, and a weight lifted from his shoulders that I hadn't realized had been there. "Okay, then." He turned around and, pointedly addressing Madison and Vanessa, said, "Move along, folks. Nothing to see here." He glared at them until Madison gave him the finger, to which he said, "No thanks. I know where that's been," and walked off.

"I guess that was a little loud," Duncan said when Logan moved away.

"Just slightly," I said. "I don't think Clemmons heard you. But you saw who just got up and left, right?" Carrie Bishop was Neptune High's resident gossip girl. She'd risen a notch or two in my book by being willing to take a public hit to her rep in order to expose Mr. Rooks, ephebophile, but by now everyone had figured out she wasn't pregnant and never had been. She still didn't like me much, and she being the victim of the rumor mill for a while hadn't dulled her desire to spill on everyone else, but she wasn't a complete waste of oxygen the way the majority of the '09ers were.

He groaned. "Making a beeline for Meg right now."

I shook my head. "That's not the way Carrie operates. She'll tell everyone but Meg, and let it get back to her through the grapevine. Sitting back in my chair, I said, "But we know something she doesn't know."

"What's that?"

"Meg no longer gives a crap what they think."

Barking out a laugh, he said, "Good point." Then, even more quietly, "Marriage?"

"It's a last resort," I said. "In California a minor under the age of 18 has to either be emancipated or have parental permission. Meg's never going to get that permission, but if this lasts that long – and God willing, it won't, but you never know – then by next May 10th Meg's free and clear."

"And marrying me would be the perfect reason for her to leave home."

"At which point she'll be out from under her parents' thumbs, and able to speak and work a lot more freely."

"Okay. Mom and Dad both like Meg. That shouldn't be a problem. Of course, I'm not planning to do so much as bring it up for another six months or so. I'm hoping to have things taken care of by then."

"Me too." Marriage was the fallback, to the fallback, to the fallback. But it was on the table. For the moment, we'd leave it there.

"Okay. Are we done for now?"

I looked around. No one was obviously staring anymore, but everyone not named Logan Echolls, Wallace Fennel or Mac MacKenzie was trying, badly, to be subtle about figuring out what was going on. "Yeah. We're done. Do me a favor, would you?"

"What?"

"Shake my hand. That'll confuse everyone."

Duncan laughed, did so, and _exeunt omnes,_riding madly off in all directions.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dad was actually still taking care of a few local jobs, but he was going to be in and out a lot of the summer too, doing his own tour – in his case, more concerned with how he managed to clear Abel Koontz and help get Jake Kane convicted, though Aaron was a fairly strong sideline topic, as you might well imagine. Dad had also gotten a good bonus, some of which went into my college fund, some of which was earmarked for mom, but there was still some left over for occasional fun.

In this way, and with Hamilton Cho winning the GPA race and free ride to Oxford, the school year passed into summer vacation.

XXXXXXXXXX

I'm not going to detail summer vacation, for the simple reason that not a lot happened. Which isn't to say nothing, but actual progress towards taking down Meg's parents was going to have to wait until we were able to communicate without, for the most part, having to go through Duncan.

Unfortunately, we didn't get much further with the plan to take down Meg's parents before summer hit and people scattered hither and yon. Actual progress towards taking down Meg's parents was going to have to wait until we were able to communicate without, for the most part, having to go through Duncan. At least I'd been right that Meg wouldn't be worried by the word "married," particularly after Duncan and I explained the idea to her.

"I'm in, Ronniekins," she said. "But like Duncan, I hope it doesn't get to that point."

"Hey," Duncan said mildly.

"You know what I mean," Meg said. "At some point in the distant future, I may be happy to marry you for the right reasons. This wouldn't be for the right reasons, and it would be way too soon. If things go well, I'm going to wait a while."

"Don't write off marriage just because your parents are shoving you into it," Duncan said. "Right, Veronica?"

The question was a masterpiece of horrible timing. I sputtered out my drink. "You're asking _me_ to speak on behalf of the wonders of marriage? Let's check out the happy couples we know, okay? Present company excluded. The Echolls family: Father an abusive murderer. The Casablancas's: Father an absentee idiot who's gone through a succession of trophy wives. Wallace's parents: Divorced. And apparently not particularly civilly so. My parents: I love my mom, but still, she took off instead of sticking by my father. The only couple I can think of off the top of my head who's happily married are Mac's parents. That's one for five. Not a particularly great track record. So me, speaking on behalf of marriage? Like Madison Sinclair giving a lecture on how to bridge class differences. "

"I knew I'd asked the wrong person the second I opened my mouth," Duncan said grumpily.

"Around here? Hard to find the RIGHT person to ask. Residents of Neptune aren't particularly strong on family values."

"Don't I know it," Meg muttered.

During the summer, Meg took several photos of the inside of her house –the entire thing, inside and out. Her parents weren't suspicious; her skill at photography was something they actually encouraged, according to Meg, because the kind of man they wanted HER to land would prefer a well-rounded woman with a talent for the arts. "They've carved out some time this year for me to study the great photographers of the world – not journalists, of course, but artists. I appreciate a good landscape as much as the next person, but this is _way_ more detail than I wanted to know."

The sacrifice was worth it, though, because those photos went from Meg, to Duncan, to me, to Mac, who was tasked with creating as thorough a floor-plan of the house as she could. Meg had a good memory, but if it came to a break-in we were going to make damn sure she had an ironclad alibi miles away.

"You do know I could have just hacked into the county records and found the floor plan that way, right?" Mac said when I gave them to her.

"Yeah. And go ahead and do it. It'd be helpful for comparison purposes. But we think there may have been a few unauthorized alterations. If you see any, point them out on the plan. Don't ask what they're for."

"Veronica," she said seriously, "You know I've already figured 98% of what's going on on my own, right?"

"I'd be surprised if you hadn't. But you haven't officially been read in, so I really can't talk about it with you beyond what we're already doing." "Read in." Listen to me sounding military.

"Not a problem. But it'll be on me."

"That's very nice," I said, and meant it.

"Of course, to make sure my rep for being a mercenary hacker chick stays unblemished, I'm going to need to charge you double from now on."

Faking outrage, I said, "And I was going to ask for a fifty percent discount because I've been throwing so much business your way."

We settled on things staying the same, of course.

The summer wasn't quite incident-free, but my detective skills, apart from helping Meg, were done strictly for Mars Investigations.

Incident one involved Weevil's second-in-command, Felix, who ended up comatose in the hospital after a brawl with an out-of-town gang, and then, a week or so before school started, right as he was about to wake up, mysteriously dying. Weevil hired me to figure out who did it, because both he and the hospital called it suspicious, not that I could blame them. The whole thing smacked of "I'm worried what this guy is going to say."

The second was Trina Echolls' trial. Trina might not have been rolling in dough, but she still had enough stored from her acting career to hire a fairly good lawyer. Not the team of experts Aaron would have been able to afford, but not someone who advertised on the backs of local telephone books, either.

Wallace had also found a site online where people were taking donations for Trina's defense fund. They'd raised a few grand at this point. There were still enough Aaron Echolls fans out there – including two local nuts, Jessamyn von Esterhaus and the '09ers very own Vanessa Mencken – who didn't think Aaron had had anything to do with Lilly's death. Trina's way of getting attention might have been "a little unorthodox" – yes, that's a direct quote – but she needed some way to get her opinion heard, and it's not like her stepmother was making it easy on her . . .

Trina shot me. I have zero patience for that line of thinking. Anyone who brings it up to me will not like my reaction. And please note: This is not marshmallow Veronica talking. I am deadly serious. Even Madison laid off where that was concerned, and Vanessa gave me a wide berth. That smirk from my conversation with Duncan? As close as she's come.

Smart woman.

Anyway, with the money, and the competent lawyer, the trial hadn't started yet by the time summer ended.

But Logan and I were still together, Duncan and Meg were still together, Mom was still a permanent member of the "I'm never waking up" club, and I had both a murder to solve and parents to take out.

Plus, in a few days? I'm going up to Sharks Park 'cause the guy who owns the team wants to run for office and wants to suck up to the high school students.

Yeah, I'm not sure I'm getting that logic either.


	4. Myocradal Infraction

Note: Going over the transcript of Normal is the Watchword I notice that Veronica says that she and Duncan got back together, in the original timeline, on her eighteenth birthday.

This doesn't make sense to me. All but a handful of older students and one early entry of my freshman class at college were 18 when the year began. I'm assuming Veronica wasn't nearly a year older than everyone else – so I'm instead changing canon so that she was 17 when senior year began – and so were Duncan and Meg.

Justine London is also one of my characters, created for Death Becomes Him.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Listen up, people!" This from Weevil, in a back alley where most of the PCH'ers were gathered. "You all know Veronica here."

One of them said, "Decide to see what things are like on our side of town?"

Weevil opened his mouth, but I said, "I got this." Then, to the PCH'er in question, I said, "You must be new."

"Just joined a month ago. Wanna help me celebrate?"

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Joe."

"Okay, Joe. I could come up with a witty answer which slams your no doubt lack of manhood and makes everyone here laugh at you, but I honestly have better things to do than get into a battle of wits with an unarmed man. I'm here because Weevil asked me to figure out who killed Felix. You want to get in my way? Go right ahead." The "Go ahead and piss off Weevil" was implied.

Joe held up both his hands and grinned. "All you had to do was say no."

I made a mental note to verbally disembowel Joe the next time I had the chance, but right now I definitely had more important things to do.

Thumper said, "What you have to bring her in for? We know who did it. It was the Red Diamonds."

Shaking my head, I said, "No. They might have stabbed him in the first place, but I've talked to his doctor -"

"Ain't that against privilege?" Another one, who gloried in the unlikely nickname of Vole, said.

"I got Felix's mom's permission," I said. I wouldn't have without Weevil backing me up; but I had it. Felix's doctor had been the one I'd had when I'd been shot: Dr. London.

Anyway, Dr. London told me Felix's death had nothing to do with being stabbed." The stab wound that had brought Felix down had missed heart by under a millimeter. That, plus a couple of other stab wounds nearby, plus his other injuries – it had been a rough brawl – had kept him in a coma for over three weeks. "Nope. He was starting to regain consciousness, starting to talk, and then they came in and found him not breathing. The Neptune coroner didn't bother to perform on autopsy—" on a gangbanger like Felix, with no one giving a shit about him in a position to productively bitch about it? He was probably marked down as _dead, thank God_ within seconds of getting to the morgue.

Dr. London, fortunately, had a conscience, and knew damn well that Felix hadn't died of a "myocardial infarction."

"I'm not a forensic specialist," she'd said. "But I'm a whole hell of a lot more competent than that idiot they have as coroner. Do you know what his medical training is?"

"No," I'd said.

"That's because he doesn't actually have any. Coroner's a political position around here; all you have to do is know someone in high places. Sure, Aaron Echolls got an honest-to-God medical examination, but this guy's nothing more than a hack political appointee who knows no more about forensics than he does about spelling. Look at this," she said, showing me an official document and pointing to the 'cause of death' line. "What does that say?"

I'd glanced at it and said, "Myocardial infarction."

"Try again."

I had respect for Dr. London, so I knew she wasn't jerking me around. I'd looked a little more closely and said, "Myocradal infraction."

"Yeah. It wasn't one of those, either. No risk factors for heart attack and, in my brief examination of him postmortem, he didn't have any of the signs."

"So what do you think happened?" I'd asked.

"I think someone smothered him with a pillow. You know, the one I found thrown on the floor."

"I assume you brought this up to Don Lamb?" Dr. London wasn't an '09er, but she wasn't a pariah, either. She could actually discuss suspicious things with our beloved Deputy and not get immediately blown off.

Though, to be fair, Donnie seemed to have bought half a clue since he 'd taken several public hits, recently. He still sucked up to '09ers like asskissing was the ticket to Heaven, but he was a lot more careful about making blanket public statements – and, according to Deputy Leo (yes, I still talked to the man occasionally) he was being a little more careful inside, too.

"He did. And while he didn't exactly tell me to get lost, he did pretty much say that, unless I had concrete proof, he was going to have to go with what the coroner said."

Which is what brought us to the scenario of me, in a back alley, talking to a biker gang most of whose members don't like me all that much, or have any reason to. I explained most of the above to the PCH'ers – I didn't stick up for Lamb all that much; even if the man's taking his job a point or two more seriously, this is still the man who essentially laughed in my face when I told him I was raped, so I'm never going to be in a mood to make him look good - and when I got to the end Vole said again, "Okay. I trust the Doc. But why'd you have to bring her in?" He was pointing to me, of course.

"You a detective?" Weevil said to Vole. To Thumper, "You?"

Thumper said, "No, but hell, Felix wouldn't have been IN the hospital if it wasn't for the Red Diamonds."

Slowly, Weevil said, "Yeah. You're right about that.'"

"So maybe it was one of them who killed him."

"Okay," I said, "Now it's time to expose my ignorance. When people in one gang kill another, is that the kind of thing that they usually keep quiet?"

Weevil snorted. "Sure as hell ain't. We'd've seen a sign or heard something through the vine. Any of you heard anything like that?"

Everyone answered no, Joe first, Thumper last. "Maybe they cleaned it up?" he asked. "Some orderly ain't gonna recognize the Red Diamond signs."

"Yeah, but they'd probably be talking about it," I said. "Still, I'll check with the hospital just in case." Dr. London would help me round up whoever cleaned up the room. I didn't think this was likely, but sometimes detective work was just a long, hard slough of dotting every I and crossing every T.

"Okay," I said. "Just to finish up here: Anyone know anyone _not_ in a rival gang who might have had a reason to hate Felix?" Eight pairs of eyes looked at each other, nervously, but no one said anything. Based on this, I was pretty sure that someone here knew something, but didn't want to speak up, either because they didn't want to snitch, or because they didn't want to spill what they knew in front of everyone. I'd have to get Weevil to let me interrogate some of these people solo.

But that wouldn't be tonight. It was going on 9 and I had to get home. Weevil walked me back to my car and I brought this up; he said he'd arrange it for the weekend. "Thanks, V," he said.

"No problem. You've done enough for me I don't mind returning the favor."

XXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, at school, the only enthusiasm for the upcoming trip was from the "anything to get out of school" crowd, and Gia, new to the school but not to being an '09er – and that's because the owner of the team was her father. Gia struck me as a bit of a flake, but not malicious – and definitely interested in journalism, though only the "cool parts."

"What are the cool parts of journalism?" I asked Duncan.

"Nothing to do with proofreading, laying out pages, design, photography, or investigative work."

"Which leaves . . . "

"She wants to write a fashion column."

"Sometimes that takes investigative work." Okay, I was closer to Daria than Rachel in my fashion choices, but I wasn't completely ignorant on the subject.

"Not the way she wants to write it."

In the meantime, in case someone might know, I asked around to see if anyone at the school might have any idea who might have wanted Felix dead. Bit of a long shot, but it couldn't hurt.

Wasn't helping so far, either. Even Carrie Bishop didn't know anything, which probably meant there was nothing to learn.

And then there was Meg. After a summer spent away from learning investigative techniques, she was a little gun shy about plunging into the deep end of going after her parents without taking a few refresher lessons in the kiddie pool.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yeah. I'd just rather make sure I'm not rusty. This is a big step."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"Not yet. Please?"

Even the 'Ronniekins' sounded forced. "Answer one question: Did they find out?"

No. I'm still here. But it's worrying, you know?"

"I get it. First case I run across, it's yours." First case that didn't involve murder, anyway.

Palpable relief crossed her face. "Thanks, Ronniekins."

I was Ronniekins again.

Good. Meg would be back.

I hoped, for her sake, soon.


	5. Another One Rides the Bus

Note: Ms. Stafford was the replacement journalism professor played by Joey Lauren Adams during Weapons of Class Destruction. She was fired at the end of the canon episode, but in my alternate universe she wasn't, and remains journalism teacher.

We now complete the rerun of "Normal Is the Watchword."

Also: I've seen the movie, and it was terrific.

And nothing but the occasional vague hint's going to be referenced in this fic.

XXXXXXXXXX

And so we got on a bus to Sharks Park. It's not the Padres – Woody Goodman would no doubt buy them if he could, but the current ownership shows no interest – but it's pretty good for a Triple A facility.

It was me, and Duncan, and Meg, and Gia, and the rest of Ms. Stafford's journalism class, minus Logan, who "volunteered" to stay behind and do some actual work on the paper. Also invited was whoever was on yearbook and broadcast, and two points to you if you've figured out that Gia also wants to be involved in them as well.

As for Logan, for "volunteered" read "practically begged." "I've got no objection to taking a day from school," he said, "But Goodman grates on me, and honestly, I have better things to do with my day than to kill it schmoozing with someone who wants a leg up in local politics. Daddy Dearest made me do it on a regular basis; Mother doesn't care all that much. Oh, she still has parties, but she only invited people she likes, not the ones she thinks she needs to get on the good side of."

Lynn Echolls, finally freed of Aaron's abuse and influence, was a major example of "I don't care what other people think." She didn't play politics, she didn't play games, she was back into acting, and she was willing to throw her '09er weight around to help the good guys.

The ideal world? One where that kind of weight didn't matter. But this is Neptune, where it's regularly beaten into the heads of the have-nots that yes, pull does matter, and no, you don't have it, now go away, so the next best thing was to have some to use on your behalf every once in a while.

So, anyway, Logan was back at school working on giving Gia Goodman's "fashion column" a major rewrite. I'd had a few days to get to know Gia, and she was by no means stupid; flighty and blunt, but the kind of bluntness that comes from cluelessness, not maliciousness. And she was nice – she wanted to be everyone's friend, and I do mean everyone; from Madison Sinclair to, well, me, from Wallace to Casey Gant. The kind of person who's irritating, but you hate being irritated by.

I'd looked over the column she'd written myself, and she wasn't a bad stylist, but she had the spelling ability of a drunk lemur. Logan might possibly regret not coming.

Goodman tried to be charming, didn't completely fail, and as much as admitted he invited the journalism class up there because he wanted to smooth Gia's entry in to public life, because he was going to run for Mayor of Neptune.

Which would be a neat trick, like running for President of England. Neptune's unincorporated. We have a county council, but that's about it. So he's probably running for County Supervisor, instead.

He spoke proudly of his time as a youth baseball league coach, but when he pointed to a couple of his former players – Peter and Marcos – they were visibly unenthusiastic about standing up until Ms. Stafford said, with a big grin, "C'mon, boys! It's nothing to be ashamed of!"

And she was right; youth baseball wasn't like youth chess. (I'm hardly one to go picking on anyone, and I wouldn't, but I can see how a couple of high school athletes might be a little embarrassed if they'd spent time playing chess, but playing baseball? You'd think that wouldn't be an issue.)

I thought about trying to figure out why before I remembered that not everything was a mystery I needed to solve, and that I was full up with the two big ones I already had.

I snuck a glance at Meg – she was chatting and gabbing away with everyone. Goodman was off in the distance arguing with someone – Terrence Cook, actually. I recognized him from his days with the Padres. They stopped arguing when we got closer, and after a brief conversation Cook asked me about the book Dad had written.

"You have Lynn Echolls to thank for that," I said.

"The actress?" He asked.

"None other. She paid him, but then said it would be nice if someone got their case out there, and while she could judge scripts she wasn't very good at writing them, and . . . " Could've knocked me over with a feather, honestly. Dad's stubborn – yes, it runs in the family, why do you ask? - and he said that we didn't need the money or the publicity, but Lynn somehow argued him into it anyway.

"Didn't know that. Anyway, tell your Dad it was a good book."

"Will do," I said. Cook was one of Dad's favorite players. This would genuinely thrill him.

It was fun to meet him, but the day overall? Struck me as a massive waste of time.

Still probably more fun than editing Gia's article, though.

Soon enough Ms. Stafford was saying, "Okay, boys and girls. I know you've had fun taking the day away from school, but we actually have to get going or we'll be cutting into your own time. And I'm sure no one wants that, right?"

Woman knew how to motivate. The room was clear within thirty seconds of every student but me and a couple of the jocks, who were stuffing their pockets with all the food they could carry.

"Shrimp cocktail a la jacket liner? Interesting dietary choice," I said.

One of them, with his mouth full, said, "Sgruuhuuh, rawngkuhars."

Well, that's what it _sounded_ like.

"Empty 'em, boys," Ms. Stafford said sternly. "I don't think Mr. Goodman or the school district wants you to come down with food poisoning." They hesitated, "Now," she said.

Surlily, they both threw the food onto the plates and stormed off, sparing a glare for me along the way. "Gee," I said. "This should make for a fun ride home."

Ms. Stafford laughed. "You can handle them."

"Of course I can, but it's way too easy."

"Make it fair," she said. "Start off with one lobe tied behind your back."

Did I mention I liked Ms. Stafford?

"Anyway," she continued, "I'm glad you stayed behind."

"Why?"

"Peter and Marcos didn't seem particularly happy about their time in Little League, did they?" I rehighlighted my mental note not to underestimate this woman. She only _seemed_ ditzy.

"No, they didn't."

"Any idea why?"

"Maybe their stats were lousy." It sounded flip, but for once I meant it. "Maybe they just didn't like Goodman. Maybe they hate publicity."

Ms. Stafford nodded her head slowly. "All possible, I guess . . ."

"But you don't think so."

"I think there's something in there worth looking into."

"Really?" I didn't, I really didn't.

"Really."

"Are you making this an assignment?"

"Of course not," she said. "This isn't anything I'd ever want to publish in the Navigator. If it's nothing, like you think, there wouldn't be a point, and if there's something? Well, you know. We don't want to be cruel."

I stopped myself from asking what school she was teaching at. Maybe she didn't want to be cruel, but there were dozens of students around who seemed to adopt it as their raison d'etre. For further details, please contact Madison Sinclair.

Of course, at the moment my plate was full, and this wasn't the kind of full where I could just scooch a few things over and fit this in, this was the kind of full where if I put one more thing on the dish the thing would break and spill everything all over the floor.

Wait a minute. "So if this isn't an assignment," I asked, "That means you want to hire me, right?"

"Right."

About to say "Sorry, no," I stopped and thought: Isn't this, for once, actual good timing?

XXXXXXXXXX

A couple of minutes later, I got on the bus.

"Damn, it's just Veronica Mars," someone said. "We shoulda taken off without her!"

Ms. Stafford got on right behind me and said, loudly, "Oh, really?"

No one said anything. It was okay, though; I knew who it was, one of Caz's lesser friends, and I honestly didn't give a good goddamn what he thought. Still, proof that while things were definitely better, they were not, and never would be, normal.

Normal would never be any kind of watchword for me.

Anyway, I asked Duncan to move – he did – and sat down next to Meg. "A couple of people tried to tell the bus driver everyone was on the bus," she said. "I shouted them down."

"Shouted?" I asked.

From my left, Duncan said, "Shouted."

"Thank you. Anyway, I've got a case for you."

Genuine glee lit up her face. "What is it?

"It's probably nothing," I said. "Ms. Stafford just wants someone to look into why Peter and Marcos didn't look all that happy in there."

"Is that it?"

"That's it," I said, "But you never know. This could be the start of something big."

And the ride back to Neptune High, from there, was uneventful.


	6. Slapsie Maxie

A little bit of actual dialogue from the episode Driver Ed in here. Not much. But some.

The Red Diamonds are my invention. In this universe, Thumper couldn't rig things so that Logan took the fall for Felix's death, so he had to wait for another opportunity to frame someone else for it. A brawl between them and another gang set the stage, here.

For that matter, I also created Vole.

XXXXXXXXXX

So Meg started brainstorming ways to figure out why Peter and Marcos had seemed so remarkably uninterested in standing up during the trip to Sharks Park. After a second lunch period of listening to her bounce idea off of me, and Mac, and Duncan, and Logan, I told her what I'd told her before she uncovered the dognapping ring: Don't be so worried about getting it perfect that you're afraid to do it at all. Honestly, I think she was nervous about even dipping her foot in the pool.

This is a girl who, may I remind you, managed to fend off Tad when he was trying to blackmail Carmen by the simple device of ringing in Weevil to threaten to make the man's life a living hell if he didn't back the hell off. And after the summer she'd had, she was nervous about talking to an ordinary pair of Neptune High students.

"You're right," she said. "Wallace? Get me their files."

"At least buy him dinner first," I said.

Wallace rolled his eyes. "Terrific. Now I've got two of you doing it. Bad news, Maxie: I'm not an office aide this year and I turned my key and passwords over to Veronica."

"Maxie?" Meg asked.

"Short for Maxi-Me," I said, then grinned evilly. "Thanks, Wallace: Now I've got a nickname for her, too."

Wallace stood up. "I'm getting out of here before someone decides to give me a nickname."

I called out after him as he left, "You've already got one, Sodapop!"

He pointedly ignored me. Foo. It's not as much fun if he doesn't act annoyed.

Mac said, "You've been holding out on me, Veronica."

"Like you need a password."

"Hey, every once in a while Superman likes to open a door by turning a knob instead of smashing through it."

"Does that mean if Veronica gives you the passwords you can do it?" Meg asked.

Mac snorted. "Veronica could give those passwords to Madison Sinclair and _she_ could do it." After a second, "Well, maybe not her. But you get my point. Give the passwords, Veronica. I'll take care of it."

"Can I trust you not to abuse this power? I like having this access."

"Me abuse power?" I looked at her steadily until she threw up her hands. "Okay, fine. I'll use them sparingly. Deal?"

"Deal," I said. "Drop by the office after school, I'll give them to you there."

"I should have something for you by tomorrow morning," Mac said to Meg.

"How much am I going to owe you?"

With an evil grin, Mac said, "Oh, don't worry . . . first one's free."

Meg looked at me. "Should I be worried?"

I said, "Too late."

XXXXXXXXXX

After school, I finally managed to sneak in some quality time for the hormones. Not long, and not nearly enough; like giving someone who was starving to death a fun-size Snickers Bar. But hey, beggars can't be choosers.

"Okay," I said when oxygen was available again. "We have to get going."

"I like the way you think, Machiavelli."

"We have to get going _in separate directions_."

"You're no fun."

"Getting shot by Keith Mars is less fun."

"Some things are worth the risk."

"Thanks, but -"

"Thanks? I was talking about me."

I said, "Of course you were. Egotist. Now let's get going."

XXXXXXXXXX

"So," Dad said when he got home. "How's Logan?" I was making dinner – a breakfast dinner, actually. Something called a "country scramble" he'd tried at a diner in Kern County one day.

"He's fine. I talked to him about you today, actually."

"Mentioning the pain I could cause?"

Dad's _good_. "It came up once or twice, yes."

"Good. How's Lynn?"

"She's fine. Wants us over for dinner." Did I not mention that? I was busy with other things.

"What's the occasion?"

"None that Logan mentioned to me." Not that he got more than a sentence out on the subject, anyway. "I think she just feels like being friendly."

"I'll give her a call and we'll set up a day. Anyway, you'll never guess who wanted to meet me today."

"Former President Bill Clinton?" I said eagerly.

"No, sweetie."

"Oooh! I know! D. B. Cooper!"

Chuckling, Dad said, "No, but that would be interesting. It was our future 'Mayor'."

"What did Woody Goodman want with you? He doesn't need you digging up dirt on his opposition." There was no opposition, literally.

"He wants me to be part of his administration."

It took me a second to get it, but I got it. I squee rarely, but this was one of the times. "He wants you to run for sheriff again!" I said, with genuine excitement.

"Yes, he does."

"Okay," I said. "You sound as enthusiastic as if he was asking you to shoot yourself." I served him the eggs. "I believe, and correct me if I'm wrong, that Woody Goodman is what some people might call a shoo-in."

"He is unopposed." He started eating

"So he's basically guaranteeing you a victory? What is there to think about?"

He sighed. "Elections aren't that easy, Veronica. They dredge up ugliness, and I don't want to subject you to that again."

"You're missing something here," I said as I sat down with my own plate of eggs.

"What's that?"

"He's got as much ugliness to dredge up as you do. I'm not talking about his personal failings, which could fill the San Diego phone book," I said, "I'm talking about his professional failings. Anyone brings up the idea that you falsely accused Jake Kane, you can point out that Jake was guilty of _something_. And then you can point out that he blew it twice on me."

"I will not use the fact that you were raped to score political points," Dad said firmly.

"Dad, if I were uncomfortable about it, I wouldn't be telling you to do it," I said. "And you'll be pointing out that he laughed in the face of a rape victim – and if he was willing to do it to me out of personal pique, then who else did he laugh at along the way? I know you, Dad. If you were sheriff, now, and Trina Echolls came to you saying that someone had threatened to kill her, you'd do something about it. You wouldn't laugh at her."

"I'd probably hand the job off to the state police and explain why," Dad said. "I wouldn't have the stomach to do it myself."

"You get my point," I said.

"I do, sweetie. I just don't want your name dragged through the mud."

"I'm used to it by now. And I'm willing to do it for you – and to get Don Lamb out of office," I said. "Hell, I'd be willing to run up and down main street wearing a kiwi suit and singing "Ice, Ice, Baby," to get Don Lamb out of office. It's not like anyone can say anything I haven't heard before. And besides," I added, "Things aren't as bad as they were. For every Casablancas, there's an Echolls. For every Madison Sinclair, there's a Meg Manning." When Dad didn't respond right away, I said, "Just give it some thought, okay?"

He polished off his eggs and came over and kissed the top of my head. "If you feel that strongly, I will. I promise."

"That's all I ask," I said.

XXXXXXXXXX

That night, in the meantime, I was due to start chatting up various PCH'ers. We were only guaranteed to get the first couple or so by ambush; after that, they'd start talking to each other, and maybe compare stories.

"They ain't gonna do that if I tell them not to," Weevil said as we headed for the first meeting.

"Really? Ten gets you twenty we don't get through three interviews without someone cluing someone else in."

"You're on, V. Hate taking your money like that, though."

First up was Vole. "What's up, Weevil?" he said when he walked into the Burger King. "Oh. Veronica Mars."

"Not the least enthusiastic greeting I've ever had," I said.

"What do you want?"

"She wants to ask you a few questions about the night of the fight," Weevil said. "So sit down and talk."

"Weevil's already told me everything he knows," I said. Which wasn't much; Weevil and the the leader of the Red Diamonds had gotten into it one-on-one and their fight had spilled outside, where the two of them had pounded on each other until they heard sirens and everyone scattered – everyone but Felix. The owner of the place had been too intimidated by Diamonds and PCH'ers to tell the cops more than that there had been a fight and he'd ducked behind the bar and hadn't seen a damn thing, beyond "Mexicans and white boys beating on each other."

As for the "bar," it was somewhere northeast of Neptune – somewhere on the border between PCH'er territory and Red Diamond territory. (The Fitzpatricks controlled the whole area, but they were a whole higher order of nasty and criminal.)

"I told you what happened," Vole told Weevil.

I said, "You didn't tell me. And I'm dying to know," I said with obvious mock enthusiasm. "What's the well-equipped biker gang using in a brawl these days?"

"Okay, well, it started when Thumper bumped into the one of the Diamonds as he came out of the bathroom. They started jawing, then they started throwing punches."

"Who hit first?"

He shrugged. "Beats me. I wasn't payin' too close attention till they started swinging."

"Anyone break out any weapons?"

"Not that I saw. We were pounding on each other, not trying to kill each other. Then things got confusing and when the sirens came and everyone started to haul ass out of there, Felix was there leaning against the wall by the bathroom with a blade sticking out of him."

"Could you tell whose it was?"

"Didn't stick around long enough to find out," he said. "Told the bartender to call an ambulance and ran for it, like everyone else."

"You didn't see who did it?"

"Naah. Area by the bathroom wasn't going that hot and heavy, though. Most of the action was over by the pool tables."

"I'm good. You got anything else, Weevil?"

"Nope. I'm good."' After Vole left, Weevil said, "You got good timing,V; here comes the next one now." He pointed out the front window, where another PCH'er was just pulling up on his motorcycle.

Whoever it was saw Vole and chatted with him for a few seconds, then abruptly got back on his bike and took off.

Without a word, Weevil handed me two five-dollar bills.

This case just got harder, but then, if I'd expected easy I would have been in a different line of work, right?


	7. Clemmons at 4 o'clock

Joe – the newest member of the PCH'ers – was the only other one to show up for an unprepared interview, and I looked at Weevil the second he walked into the Burger King. "Why'd you ask him? He wasn't a member when you rumbled."

"Rumbled?" Weevil said

.

"Yeah, I know no one uses it anymore, but it's such a cool word."

By this point Joe'd come over and joined us. "Hey, you said everyone, V," Weevil said. "Joe's part of everyone."

Actually, it turned out to be a bit of luck. Joe'd heard the fight second hand from a half dozen different sources. There had only been two Red Diamonds over in the area long enough to have stabbed Felix – one tall and very pale who'd had a gun in his waistband the whole time, the other maybe five feet tall at most. There's also been two PCH'ers not counting Felix, Thumper and another one I didn't know personally, named Allie. (Though he pronounced it like "Ollie.")

Once Joe'd gone over the story twice, Weevil told him to get going. When we were by ourselves, I told him that I would definitely need to talk to Allie and Thumper – and possibly the two members of the Red Diamonds as well.

"How you think I'm going to do that? I set up any kind of meet they'll get suspicious and the rest of the PCH'ers'll get ticked off I'm even talking to them when I should be making plans to get them for what they did to Felix."

"Does it make any difference that it sounds like Thumper started the fight?"

"Not really. Like Vole said: A brawl's one thing, trying to kill each other's something else. Thumper might've come out swinging, but whoever drew the knife took it to a whole other level."

"Okay, okay. Just asking. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but it would help – because whoever stabbed Felix is probably the person who smothered him when he was starting to wake up – he didn't want Felix to tell anyone who he was. And I think I've gone as far as I can with what I can get from the hospital." Actually, there was still a chance I'd get to look at the security footage – Dr. London was arguing with her superiors in the hospital's administration, and they weren't going to tell her to just go take a flying leap because she was good enough at her job that they didn't want to tick her off, but they didn't want to rock the boat too much by letting people know that people can get murdered in their hospital, either.

So they were dragging their feet, hoping that she, and I, would eventually give up and go away, but in the words of Bugs Bunny, "He don't know me vewy well, do he?" And that applied to both me and Dr. London.

"Be easier to get you Felix and Allie."

"Weren't they supposed to be here tonight?"

"Yeah. But I think we've taken this as far as we can. I'll put the fear of God in 'em and set up another meet. And this time they'll show up, or else."

"Sounds good," I said.

"Any ideas yet?" he said as we walked outside.

"Nothing I can back up," I said, and got into my LeBaron.

I might not be able to back it up, but I had a clearer idea than I was implying to Weevil – primarily because I didn't want to get in a huge screaming match there in the Burger King parking lot.

Tall and pale had a gun in his waistband; if he'd gone for a weapon, he would've been a lot more likely to pull his gun than scramble around for a knife. And the short guy? Maybe knives were his favorite weapon; hell, maybe he was a knifethrower at the local carnival in his spare time.

Felix wasn't short, and he was stabbed from above the heart.

Of course, a small man can stab a short man from above the heart. It's nowhere near impossible. I'm just saying it strikes me as a lot less likely.

So, following my logic chain there – which wasn't unassailable by any means, which is why I hadn't been about to bring it up to Weevil – it was likely the person who stabbed Felix was a fellow PCH'er – probably Allie or Thumper.

Why? Beats me. I had a hunch there, too, but no logic whatever. I'd wait on that. Sometimes motive was important, sometimes it wasn't. If you could prove who and how, why was a secondary concern.

XXXXXXXXX

"Can I tell you I'm not fond of you hanging out with the PCH'ers?" Logan asked as we sat in the parking lot before school the next morning.

"I thought you and Weevil had reached a cease fire."

"Me and Mr. Navarro are –" he made quotation marks with his hands – "tight. I'm not worried about him. The rest of them, though - look, just because Weevil is and maybe Felix was a halfway decent human beings doesn't mean the rest of them follow his lead. Just ask Armando." In case it needs to be clarified, Logan was speaking of "gang members," not anything else that might be crossing your mind that would speak uglier of him. Not that I think he's necessarily right about "gang members" either, but I got where his concern was coming from.

So I didn't bother making my objection, because that wasn't the point. "I'm still not in the market for overprotectiveness," I said. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

We kissed goodbye and went our merry way. Dad was meeting with Woody Goodman again today; I didn't know what his answer was going to be, but he wasn't playing it coy; he honestly didn't know himself.

I was still rooting for yes. On the off chance you were wondering.

We'd also gotten a call that Trina's trial had been scheduled to start the second week of November. At least that was one thing I didn't have to immediately worry about.

In the hallway near Meg's locker, I ran across Mac handing Meg some printouts. "No problems?" I asked.

Mac snorted. "Please. It's a bigger challenge to walk and chew gum at the same time."

"Cool," I said. "Meg? That look good?"

"It's pretty much their complete biography. So yes."

"Good." I did the next thing myself, so it certainly wasn't meant as a criticism, just a heads-up. "Did you do a security check?"

"No one up or down the hall, and Mac and I are both looking up just in case," Meg said.

"I am?" Mac said. "Oh. Right. Clemmons at 4 o'clock."

Meg began placing the papers in her backpack as I whirled, ready to give Meg some lead time - when Mac finished up with, "Is probably just as happy as we are that the day's over."

I turned back around and told Mac, "Don't do that again," in a voice that said I wasn't sure whether I wanted to laugh or strangle her.

Meg was sure; she was laughing all the way. It was a merry laugh, the kind I hadn't heard in a while. So I settled for saying, "Do that again and you're a dead woman, Mackenzie."

"Naah. I die, everything goes out to the papers."

By this point the files on Peter and Marcos had disappeared into Meg's backpack; she still hadn't completely stopped laughing. I had to give her credit for keeping her composure; instead of frantically trying to hide the papers, which would have been a sure giveaway that she was trying to hide something, she'd simply put them away like she'd been about to do that anyway.

"The papers?" I asked Mac. "Really?"

"Doesn't sound as good to say they're going out to the blogs," Mac said, shrugging.

Before I could answer, a voice over my right shoulder said, "Hello, ladies."

It was Clemmons. For real this time.

I couldn't help it; I jumped. Mac looked amused.

And Meg? She lost it. As in, laughed so hard she fell down.

"I don't want to know, do I?"

Since neither Meg nor I seemed to have the ability to speak just then, Mac answered, "Probably not. But it's all innocent. I promise."

"Uh-huh," Clemmons said. "Is it likely to end up with anyone dead, dismembered, or suing the school?"

"Well, you can never tell, but I don't think so," Mac said.

"Good," he said. "Then I'll forget most of this ever happened. You might want to get to class, though."

As he walked off, Mac said, "I've been waiting my whole life for this. 'Well, whaddaya know? I finally got the last word'."


	8. True, That

Wallace enlisted my help later in the day to help a new student – Terrence Cook's daughter Jackie, of all people – find out who'd hit her car. I begged out on being the lead, but told him I'd be happy to let him bounce ideas off me, and if he needed me to back a play of his, I'd be happy to do it.

"You know what this means?" I said. "I've got Meg doing it and now you doing it. I'm clearly too much of a good influence around here. If I want to save any of this business for myself I'm going to have start being mean and nasty to people."

"How's that going to build you a clientele?"

"It works for Vinnie van Lowe," I said.

"You really want to be compared to –"

"Never mind," I said firmly.

XXXXXXXXXX

At lunch, Meg handed me the files. "Take a look," she said. "See if you come to the same conclusion I do."

"Ooooh," Logan said. "Can I play?"

I was sitting with Logan and Duncan. Wallace was off chatting up the hacky-sack players – nice one, Fennel; if anyone's going to see a car crash, it;s going to be the people standing close to the cars.

"Not unless I need a third pair of eyes," Meg said. "I'm not even going to let Duncan see these."

""Yep; just a rolling file cabinet, that's all that I am," Duncan said amiably.

"You really are turning into a larger version of Veronica, aren't you?" Logan said with mild snark.

Meg took it a little more personally than I think Logan intended, because her answer was, "And what's wrong with that? The world could use a few more people like Veronica Mars."

Logan didn't seem to sense that Meg was a little upset, and Duncan did sense it but was puzzled, so, to defuse the situation, I said, "That was my plan: amass an army of clones, and then take over the world." 

Logan said, "So far, you're doing a good job."

I took Peter and Marcos' files and said, "Any hints?"

"It's right there in the first couple of pages," she said. "Also: They were both good players. Maybe not major league material, but not the kind who'd have to settle for a participation medal, either."

I took a look over it. After a second, I said, "Neither one of them's actually an athlete anymore."

"Right."

"I could have told you that," Duncan said.

"Since when were you pumped up with 'school spirit'?" Logan said, and yes, you could hear the air quotes.

"One, I don't this place is quite the hellhole you do; two, no one could think this place is the hellhole you do; three, before I became the managing editor of the navigator I handled sports, and I still pay attention. Peter and Marcos – hey, I saw the names when you handed the folders to Veronica, I'm not going to screw my eyes shut," he said when Meg elbowed him at this last – "Peter and Marcos both started out on the JV team, but they were kicked off."

"Why?" Meg asked.

"I don't know," he said. "But it wasn't because of how they were playing on the field, and they weren't being jackasses or beating up the fans or anything. Whatever it was, it wasn't anything anyone made public. One day they were on the team, the next day they'd been replaced."

"They left at the same time?" Meg asked.

Duncan thought, then said, "Yeah, actually."

"I'd ask if there were any rumors, but there's someone better to go to for that," Meg said, looking towards another table, where Carrie Bishop was sitting with her best friend, Susan Knight – back in school and _sans_ baby.

"Want backup?" I asked.

Smirking, Logan said, "I don't think threatening them with a pit bull's going to help any."

"I meant me," I said.

"Thanks, but I think I can handle her."

"Besides," Duncan said in his atrocious Ah-nuld accent, "If she needs muscle, she has me." He flexed and Meg made a production out of swooning and rubbing his arms.

To me, Logan said, "Want to rub my muscles?" while mocking Duncan's pose.

"Sure," I said, and carefully inspected Logan's arms. "Where are they?"

"Well –" he said lasciviously.

"And on that note," Meg said, standing up, "I need to get going. I don't think Carrie's going to be inclined to answer my questions if I'm throwing up on her shoes." 

My good mood ended immediately, but I didn't let Meg see anything.

Remember, it was Beaver Casablancas saying he threw up on Carrie's shoes that led me to figuring out that he'd raped me.

Fortunately, Duncan didn't see anything; Logan did, and immediately dropped his act and squeezed my hand in a non-sardonic way (and if you think someone can't squeeze you sardonically, you don't know Logan Echolls).

"Am I missing something?" Duncan said.

"Yes, but don't worry about it," I said. The last thing I wanted to do is bring this up to Duncan again. If you but my emotional reaction, on a scale of 1 to 10, at 7 or so, Duncan's zooms up to somewhere near 45. He'd reached stability on the subject, but it had taken him a while, and a lot of reassurances that nobody blamed him for any role he might have had. I would not discuss this part of it in front of Duncan again willingly at gunpoint, and if you think I'm exaggerating, just pull a firearm.

"Really?" he said.

"Really," I said.

"Okay, then."

Duncan and Logan chatted about the newest game releases while I sat there in silence. A couple of minutes later, Meg came back.

Sitting down, she said, quietly, "The rumor at the time is that they got into a fight in the locker room with some of the other athletes."

"Why?"

"Carrie didn't know," Meg said. "Someone said something that set Marcos off, and Peter jumped into help him, and by the time the coaching staff broke it off, Johnny Gomez had a broken left hand. When Coach Calhoun asked them what had happened, they refused to talk about it, so he had no choice but to toss them from the team." Johnny Gomez was one of the best baseball players in Triton history, and that broken hand had cost him most of his senior year.

"Huh," I said. "You think this has something to do with their behavior at the ballpark?"

"It might," she said. "So I guess the next step is to call Johnny Gomez." She stood back up. "And no time like the present to start tracking him down. His brother's in my chem class. See you all later." She walked off towards the far end of the lunch area, towards – Wallace?

Johnny's brother had to be one of the guys playing hackysack. I saw Wallace turn around and see Meg; one of the hackysack players said something, and then Wallace laughed and started walking towards us. Meanwhile, Meg started talking.

"I think she's back," I said.

"Ain't it cool?" Duncan asked.

Wallace came over and pulled me aside. "Anything you need?" I asked.

One of the hackysack players yelled out, "Not that one, either," and Wallace yelled back, "Thanks!"

"I'm good so far," he said. "You want to hear something funny?'

"Sometimes," I said.

"They described the woman who hit Jackie's car as being blonde white woman with a nice ass. When Meg came up, Barry Gomez told me if I was going to parade all of them in front of them, they'd like it, but it wasn't her -"

"And when you talked to me they said it wasn't me either."

"Nope."

"I'm not sure whether to be complimented or insulted," I said, not actually offended.

"I'd be complimented," he said. "You've got enough people insulting you."

True, that.

XXXXXXXXXX

I didn't have to do any work for Dad after school; Trina's trial wasn't for a month and a half; I wasn't going to be able to get to talk to Allie or Thumper until Friday; we weren't going to back on the track of exposing Meg's parents until Meg was done her current job; and Meg wasn't done trying to figure out Peter and Marcos.

I had to call Dr. London back tonight and ask her if there'd been any progress on prying the security video loose from the hospital. If not, I might have to try either finding a way to swipe it or seeing if I could get Don Lamb to disagree with the coroner and declare the case a murder, anyway. I wasn't thrilled about my chances, either way.

Anyway, I got home to find Dad already there, making dinner.

"Is that the cheese of 'I'm running' or the cheese of of 'I'm not going to bother?'"

"That," Dad said, "Is the cheese of 'I'm going to kick Don Lamb's ass'."

"You said yes!" I ran over and hugged him.

"I said yes. I met Woody at the station and saw Lamb – saw him actually trying to do his job. And you know what?"

"What?"

"Even when he's trying, he's just not very good at it."

"I could have told you that," I said.

"And I believe you have on several occasions."

Again: True, that.


	9. A Quiet Dinner at the Echolls'

"Coach Calhoun came out and asked 'what's going on here?"" Meg said. "One of the players said, 'All we asked them was which one was the –' and then someone slapped the kid. Before he could ask again, he saw Johnny rolling around on the floor and grabbing his hand and didn't get around to trying to figure out what happened until he got back from the hospital – and by then, no one was talking. Barry did give me Johnny's phone number, though. No point in trying to call him tonight, though; it's Friday and he's in college. I'll try him tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay," I said. It was Friday night. Meg was giving me an official report. As far as her parents were concerned, we were studying. Dad knew we weren't studying, but he also knew that the Manning Family wasn't particularly nice, so he was willing to stretch the truth just that little bit.

I was also meeting with Weevil and Thumper in a couple hours. Dad didn't know anything about _that_; you'll notice I haven't been handcuffed to the radiator. Dr. London and I were giving the hospital till Monday evening to give us a look at the security footage, and then we were going to escalate things.

I went on. "So far, so good. One question, though: If you're trying to find out what happened with Peter and Marcos, why haven't you asked Peter and Marcos?"

"In case it's nothing, or in case it's something they don't want out and doesn't need to be out," she said. "I'd rather not hurt their feelings if I can avoid it."

Admirable. A touch on the naïve side, maybe, but if anyone can pull it off, Meg would be the one. "And what about Carrie Bishop?"

She grinned. "One up on you there, Ronniekins. Carrie will gossip about anyone else, but she'll never gossip about herself. She's never told anyone that someone came to her asking questions, and I don't think she's going to start now. Plus, it's not like it's even all that juicy."

I actually hadn't known that about Carrie. I suppose I should have figured it out; she never told anyone that I asked her whether Beaver Casablancas had thrown up on her shoes, for instance.

"So," I asked, "Do you think there's anything here?"

"Yeah. I do. I don't know how important it is, but we've already established that they weren't embarrassed because of how they were playing. It could still be nothing big, but -"

"But it might be," I said. "Okay. Looks good."

"Really?"

"Would I lie?" Meg simply gave me a steady gaze. "To you? About this?"

Another big grin. "About this, no," she said.

"Then keep up the good work." She left and I did office work until it was time to head out and meet Weevil and company.

XXXXXXXXXX

Thumper was looking at me as though I were a cockroach he'd just found on top of his pizza. Check that; he was looking at me like I was _half_ of that cockroach. "Why you wasting my time?" he asked Weevil. "I got things to do."

"What you got that's more important than finding out who killed Felix?" Weevil asked.

"Man, I told you, we already _know_ who killed Felix. It was the damn Red Diamonds."

"Probably," I said, meaning probably not, but even Weevil didn't know that. "Don't you want to know who? Or were you just planning to gut all of them?"

"Sounds like a plan," Thumper said.

"Sounds like a dumb plan," Weevil said. "I'm okay with taking out whatever _pendejo_ killed Felix, but slaughtering the whole gang's gonna get us all kinds of heat we don't need."

"You scared of the cops?"

"I ain't scared of Lamb," Weevil said, "But ain't everyone there as bad at their job as he is. And V's Dad's running for Sheriff again, and if he wins? He'd track us down for sure. Man's good."

"Damn right he is," I said. "What's the problem, Thumper? You talk to me, I figure out who did it, you toss them off the Coronado Bridge with weights on their feet, everyone's happy. Do you have something against that?" Actually, I wouldn't be _happy_, exactly, but I could live with it. But now? Not the time to have an in-depth discussion on parsing the meaning of words. I wouldn't mourn. That was good enough.

"It's a waste of time."

"And it's my time to waste," I said. "So. What happened at the bar that night?"

With Weevil glaring at him and me having beaten down his arguments, Thumper's choices at this point were either to tell me what I wanted to hear, or to tell both of us to get stuffed and take off. And right now? Storming off wouldn't be particularly wise. Might make me and Weevil suspicious he had something to hide.

Did he have something to hide? I didn't know.

"Okay," Thumper said, and gave me the same story I'd heard from Vole, almost note-for-note. Only things I got were the names of the two Red Diamonds – Zombie Mike, and Puck.

"So who was fighting who?" I asked.

"Everyone was pounding on everyone," he said. "Felix and I were back-to-back when I heard a loud whistle, and then I turned around and saw Felix go down with the knife in him. One of our guys yelled at the bartender to call 91, and we booked."

"Who were you fighting at the time?"

"Puck. Hey, don't give me that look; dude's short, but he punches like a mother."

Bailing him out, Weevil said, "Yeah. There's a reason he's in the gang. Kid's a freaking black belt."

"Okay. Who do you think did it?"

Thumper shrugged. "Probably Zombie Mike."

"Okay," I said. "Thank you. Now, was that so hard?"

He didn't answer; he just glared and left. Once I was sure he was out of earshot, I said, "Change of plans."

"What?"

"We're going to need to talk to the Red Diamonds next. Another ten'll get you another twenty that Allie won't be able to tell us anything else."

"I ain't taking that bet," Weevil, being no dummy, said. "You think my boys are covering something?"

"I think they 'have their story straight'," I said. "Don't know if they're covering anything or just don;t think it's any of my business and want to get on with the job of pounding the Red Diamonds as soon as possible. Either way, I need fresh eyes – and the bartender? Probably won't even admit that there was a brawl in the bar, period, never mind that someone was stabbed."

Weevil took a deep breath. "This isn't going to be easy."

I said, "If you can't do it -"

"I never said that," he said irritably. "I said it was going to be hard, not impossible. I'll do it."

"Good!" I said chipperly.

"You know, you'd make a good dictator," he said.

"That's what I keep telling Dad, but he keeps not wanting to go halfsies on invading some Caribbean island."

"Let me know when you're ready," Weevil said.

I did my best Mr. Burns impression. "Excellent."

XXXXXXXXXX

That left me with a free Saturday – and by free, I meant "free to do schoolwork, file some papers around the office, and play phone tag with Dr. London." Dad and I had set up our dinner with Lynn Echolls for tonight at 6:30, and Meg hadn't called me back by the time I needed to start getting ready. No, I'm not the girliest of girls, and no, Lynn Echolls wouldn't expect us to look like extras from a James Bond movie, but still, it's an occasion that needs more than a quick comb and a check to make sure that my jeans don't have holes in the knees.

Around 6:15 Dad and I were pulling into the driveway. As we got there we noticed that there were maybe a dozen cars there, including Duncan's. "Sweetie," Dad said, "Was this an invite to a dinner _party_?"

"Not that anyone told me," I said as we got out.

Before we could shut the door, Logan was there. "I want you to know," he said, "I had no idea. I would have warned you if I'd had the chance."

"Warned us about what, Logan?" Dad asked.

Before Logan could answer, Lynn's voice rang out cheerfully from near her front door, "Keith! Veronica! Come on in!"

"Last chance to run for the hills," Logan muttered _sotto voce, _holding my hand.

"What do you think, Dad?" I asked.

"It's too late now," Dad said through a grin. "She knows we're here."

"Think she'd buy 'abducted by aliens'?"

"Have any spaceships conveniently handy?"

"Fresh out," I said.

"Then I think we're stuck." Now we'd reached the front door and Dad gave a Lynn a kiss on the cheek and said, "Hi, Lynn. Did we come on the wrong night or something?"

"No, you're right on time."

I asked, "Do you have a really kick-ass live show for us? Or do you just like to have every course served by a different waiter?" I made sure she knew what I was talking about by pointing over my shoulder to the line of cars in the driveway.

Lynn laughed and said, "Nothing of the sort. Come on in and see for yourself." She turned around and walked in, and, it being far too late to do anything other than ride it out, we followed her.

Inside was a crowd of maybe twenty people – including Duncan (without Meg), Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock (Arianna the animal rights activist's parents), Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie,and Alicia Fennel, among many others.

"You didn't tell them today was your birthday, did you, Dad?" I asked.

Dad didn't have time for more than a quick glare before Lynn said, "Everyone. Thank you so much for coming. It means you agree with me: Neptune has a problem, and Keith Mars is the answer to that problem."

"Damn right he is," Mr. MacKenzie said. "Keith Mars for Sheriff!"

My jaw dropped.

This?

This wasn't the simple dinner it had to have been when Lynn asked.

This was a _campaign fundraiser_.


	10. Miss Perfect

While Dad, who's always been a trouper but I knew damn well would have rather been at the receiving end of a beatdown from a professional wrestler, shook everyone's hand, I walked over to Duncan and said, "If you knew anything about this before the last hour and didn't warn us, you're a dead man.

Duncan, sensing the genuine irritation in my voice –

Hold it. Let me specify here. Lynn's gesture? Unwanted, unnecessary, and incredibly nice. Lynn would have to sacrifice a baby harp seal with a dull butter knife to get me annoyed at her for more than a few seconds. Ever since Aaron was killed, Lynn has been the textbook definition of "making up for lost time." She's thrown herself back into acting – in the last six months she's gotten roles on several TV shows, including _SVU, Monk_, _CSI Miami, _and many others, has developed an active social life, and has done her best to pull Neptune out of the doldrums she's been convinced it's been in.

It wasn't Lynn I was annoyed at. That would have been incredibly ungenerous, and me? Not getting so many nice gestures that I can afford to blow off a single one.

And Logan, I suspect had been ordered not to call me and "spoil the surprise."

Duncan, though?

Duncan would have no excuse.

"I didn't tell you, Veronica, because I wasn't telling anyone," he said. "I didn't even tell Meg or Logan."

"Indeed," Logan said. "Young Mr. Kane brought the feather with which he knocked me over."

"And why weren't you?" I asked.

"Because I needed to make sure word didn't get back to my mother," Duncan said. "The man that got my father sent to jail, who thought I'd killed Lilly, and I'm showing up at a fundraiser for him? She would have burst a blood vessel."

"Let me tell her," I said.

"_No,_" Logan and Duncan said together.

"Okay, then," I asked, in a serious tone. "Why are you here? I seem to remember you being substantially less than thrilled with my father when the story broke."

"I was," he said. "I'm still not thrilled by that. But the thing is, all the way through, your Dad was doing his job the best he could. He was wrong, but he wasn't afraid of my parents. And then I remembered how Don Lamb handled – well, what happened with you and Cassidy," he said quietly, "And how he just blindly fixed on Dick as the one who'd shot you. And a dozen other things," he said. "Your Dad's better. And through all of it, I _like_ him. I don't like Lamb. I never really have."

"Students all congregating together," came a surprising voice from behind me."If we were at school I'd think you were up to something."

Three shocks in one day. It's a good thing there's no history of heart problems in my family. I turned around and said, "Mr. Clemmons! What a surprise to see you here."

"And if you're worried we're up to no good," Logan said, "We're teenagers. Of course we're up to no good."

"Right now, Mr. Echolls, I doubt that very much," Clemmons said.

"I told you last spring, after the – incident – with Cassidy Casablancas, that Sheriff Lamb could be running against a beached whale in the next election, and I would vote for the beached whale. And your father is much better than a beached whale."

"His odor is far less powerful, for one," Logan said.

Clemmons said, "I realize this is you trying to be funny, Mr, Echolls – and my advice is, try harder next time – but that's absolutely right. Lamb smells. Your father may not have been perfect, but he didn't stink. In any sense of the word. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go say my piece to your father, Miss Mars. Have a good evening."

Once he'd walked away, I said, "I'd ask who else is going to pop out of the woodwork, but I know better. As soon as I say that Clarence Weidman'll pop around the corner."

"Don't even joke about that," Logan said.

Sometimes I'm too glib for my good. As soon as I said it, I'd realized I shouldn't have. Clarence Weidman was not a joking matter, to me or Logan. He drove Mom out of town – and indirectly, into the vegetative coma she was currently in – and did his best to hamstring Dad's and my investigation into Lilly's death.

I'd meant to invoke his name bitterly, but I shouldn't have tried to invoke it at all.

"No chance of CW popping up," Duncan said. "He's got enough to do trying to keep Mom safe and trying to keep people from slandering Dad." Duncan wasn't actually exaggerating; Jake Kane had filed a lawsuit from prison because someone had implied far greater evils than the man had actually perpetrated. In Jake's case, though, while the charges were fake, I was hoping he lost, just because he was an asshole. How someone like that could have married Celeste and produced people like Lilly and Duncan, I had no clue.

Duncan was still talking. "And what do you have against the man, anyway, Veronica? He helped save your life."

I looked at Logan; Logan looked at me. "Not something we're ready to talk about," I said.

"Veronica—"

"Dude," Logan said seriously. "It's not trivial and we're not kidding. Drop it."

"Okay, okay," Duncan said. "Sheesh." He walked away.

"I have to get out of here," I said, and broke for the front door.

Logan followed me out to the front porch, where I sat on a bench.

Sitting next to me, Logan said, "He couldn't know. He can't know."

Near tears – I hate getting like this, losing control – I said, "I don't blame him. I blame me. I shouldn't have even made the joke in the first place, knowing that Duncan likes him, knowing that no one else – no one¬ – knows what we went through because of him."

"You're allowed to make mistakes, you know," Logan murmured, hugging me.

I shook my head. "No. I'm not. When it comes to things like this? Miss Perfect. I have to be." Perfection might be unattainable. But it's a level I have to do my damnedest to maintain.

Bad things happen when I'm not perfect.

"Yeah, you are," he said.

"I'm not in the mood –"

"I know. That's where I was getting ready to stop."

"Do me a favor. Don't start again, either."

He held up his hands. "This is me, not starting."

Good enough.

XXXXXXXXXX

Our absence was noted within a few minutes; I'd stopped tearing up by that point and we just said we'd wanted some alone time, to which Dad said, "If I have to go through this, you have to go through this."

"Keith!" Lynn said. "There you are."

"Here I am," Dad said. "I was just retrieving Veronica. And Lynn? While we're by ourselves out here?"

"Yes?"

"I appreciate everything you're doing," he said. 'But please don't ambush me again."

Lynn said, "Okay. Fair enough. I was just trying to have some fun and do some good at the same time, but if you didn't like it, then away it goes." She clapped her hands. "So. You ready for some food?"

"I could eat," Dad said, and my stomach rumbled slightly in agreement. (I'd had almost no lunch – Lynn Echolls set up a good table.)

"Then come on in! Paolo and Maria are just unveiling the buffet!" She walked back into the house and we all followed her.

"Logan," Dad asked, "is your mother likely to do this again?"

"Not without clearing it with you," he said, seriously. "She likes both of you. However, she's likely to campaign for you with or without your active cooperation."

"Good to know," Dad said. "Is she offended?"

"Mother? It would take a lot of work by either of you to offend her. She'll simply chalk this up as a learning experience, learn from it, and move on."

"Thank you."

XXXXXXXXX

We didn't get out of there until well past 11, and we left with an honest-to-god campaign fund of around twenty grand. More than half of that was from Lynn and the Whitlocks, who were the only real high rollers present (not counting Duncan, but then Duncan was only there for the name value, anyway), but everyone contributed something.

Dinner, as I'd expected, was delicious. There were about a dozen different entrees, twice that many side dishes and appetizers, and enough dessert at the end to stuff a platoon of marines. That rumbling in my stomach? Long gone by the time I left. I'd be lucky if I was hungry again by breakfast tomorrow morning.

"That Lynn," Dad said when we were halfway home.

"That Lynn," I agreed. I'd been somewhat quiet the rest of the night, trying to recover my equilibrium. By the time we were done eating, I'd say I succeeded, for the most part.

"I guess I'm going to have to figure out something to do with that money," he said.

I said innocently, "There's this Caribbean island I've had my eye on . . ."

"Veronica . . ." Dad said. "You're not thinking clearly. Twenty grand isn't nearly enough to buy an island in the Caribbean."

"Even a small one?"

"No."

"Poo. Ruin a girl's fun."

"That's what Daddies do, sweetheart."

Time to get serious. "Okay," I said. "What are you going to do with the money?"

"Honestly, I wouldn't know where to begin."

"There's a billboard on top of the sheriff's office," I said. "Why not rent it out?"

"Be serious," he said.

"In this case? I am. Deadly serious. What better use of the money? I'm thinking wording it something like "Want to get rid of the problems Neptune's having? So do we. Let's start with the one in the building below. Keith Mars for Sheriff." Okay, so it wasn't all that inspired. You want political genius? Hire James Carville.

I'm merely me, Veronica Mars.

Miss Perfect.


	11. Out Like a Lamb

Meg had gotten back to me – I could see that she'd called – but I wasn't going to answer her that night. We had a 911 signal and she hadn't given it.

Instead it was home, then bed. Dad was mulling over getting a campaign manager.

And I dreamed of Lilly.

It had been a while; since the night before I'd had the press conference, in fact.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. We were walking along a street I didn't recognize, past thrift stores and coffee shops.

"A little shopping. Hey, a girl's gotta look fashionable, even in the afterlife."

"Thrift stores?"

Lilly grinned. "You can find good things anywhere, at any level. Just because something's rich doesn't mean it's good."

"You managed both."

"Yes, but I'm just that fabulous, Veronica Mars."

"Always were," I said.

"And don't you forget it. Oooh, look, over there," she said, pointing to a dress in the window of one of the stores. "That's beautiful."

Looking the dress over, I frowned. "It's got a bit of a rip."

"So?" Lilly said. "It doesn't have to be perfect; it just has to be good enough to get the job done."

I woke up shortly after that; Backup poked his head up from the floor next to my bed and gave me a questioning look.

"I'm okay," I said. He raised his head and licked my face, anyway, just to be sure.

Good dog.

It used to be, while the question of who killed her was up in the air, that Lilly dreams would keep me up for the rest of the night.

That wasn't the case any more, thank goodness.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next morning, Dad and I left aside the question of what he was going to do with the money – I was going to push the billboard idea again, don't think I hadn't been serious about that – and just had a nice, leisurely breakfast.

For maybe an hour or so.

Then we got a knock at the front door. Dad being in the bathroom, I walked over, looked through the peephole, felt my jaw drop, and opened the door.

"Dad!" I said as I opened the door. "Paperboy's here!"

Don Lamb stood there, holding a copy of the Sunday paper. As Dad came out I said, "Sorry, little boy, but we already have a subscription."

"Funny as ever, Veronica," Lamb said.

"I live to amuse."

"Don," Dad said. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

Dad said, "If you're here for the reason I think you're here, you'd better."

Lamb stepped in, I closed the door, and he walked over to the breakfast table. "You couldn't have called?" He pointed to a below-the-fold headline that touted Dad's entry into the sheriff's race. See, one of the other guests at Lynn Echolls' fundraiser was a reporter. So this was guaranteed to make news.

Here's the thing, though: The paper Lamb was holding? Not the local one. It was the San Diego Union-Tribune.

See, it wasn't "Sheriff thrown out of office attempts to regain job" that was the story, it was "Man who solved Lilly Kane murder case runs for office." The Neptune Sheriff's Department had rubberstamped the conclusion, but they hadn't bothered trying to take the credit for it. And the Lilly Kane murder? National news.

It probably wouldn't have made that paper without Lynn Echolls' help. But it had, and Donny boy here had found about it. And he was being Marvin the Martian about it.

You know what I mean: "I'm not angry. Just terribly, terribly hurt." 

Dad said, "Do you think I owed you a call, Don?"

"It would have been nice."

"It would have been," Dad agreed. "Here's the thing, Don: I don't think I owe you nice. I'd still planned on calling you as a courtesy, out of respect for the office, but Lynn Echolls kind of pre-empted me on that. But I don't owe you nice, Don. I owe you civil, and I owe you respect as the Sheriff. But you have never, _ever_ been nice to me, not when I was your boss, not after you took over my job, and damn sure not when I was doing the job you should have been doing in the first place. And that's just how you treated me. When it comes to Veronica -"

"You laughed in my face," I said. In case he'd forgotten. And I was going to spend the rest of my life making damn sure he never did.

"Which is something you should never do to anyone," Dad said. "_Anyone._ My daughter or Trina Echolls. You laughed in the face of a rape victim. That's unforgivable."

"I –" he said.

"Go ahead, Don," Dad said with cold rage. "Let me hear the excuse you have. What's your line of reasoning?"

Lamb sighed. "I don't have one. I was wrong. Look, Keith. I know I've made mistakes in the past."

"You've made nothing but mistakes, from what I can tell," I said.

"Enough, Veronica," Dad said. "Don's been better than that."

"Thanks -:

"Don't thank me. The problem is, you haven't been better enough."

"I've been trying!" Lamb said. "I've been more careful, I've been following up reports – from everyone, not just the '09ers."

"Felix Toombs," I said angrily.

"What?" Dad said, at the same time Lamb said, "What about him?"

Ah well. In for a penny and all that. "Felix Toombs," I said. "Member of the PCH'ers. Stabbed in a fight a couple of months back. Died in the hospital. Death ruled "by natural causes" by the county coroner. Almost certainly murdered since, according to his doctor, he was about to wake up."

Lamb looked – puzzled. Not angry, not bewildered, just confused. "I read over that report personally. Everything seemed to be in order."

"The coroner used to be a pharmacist," I said. "The doctor's the head of the emergency department. Try again."

"Okay, I will, if that's what it takes for you two to think I'm taking my job seriously."

Now it was Dad's turn to sigh. "Don, I know you're taking it more seriously now. But you shouldn't be doing this just to get my, or Veronica's, or anyone else's approval. You should do it because it's right. If you want to show me you've learned your lesson? Here's your chance. I'm still going to run. I'm going to do my damnedest to win. Now go out there and do just what you said you were going to do, anyway. Do your job. I'm not running because I hate you. You're not my favorite person in the world, but then neither is Jake Kane and I'm not bidding to become CEO of Kane software, either. I'm running because I think I can do the job better than you can."

"Okay," Lamb said. "You've given me something to think about." He stood up. "Good luck, Keith."

"Thank you, Don," Dad said, and walked him to the door. Smiling, he then said, "See you on the campaign trail."

He closed the door and then turned to me. "That went better than I thought it would."

"That's not hard," I said. "I honestly expected him to come in either crying or screaming. Instead he was . . . civilized."

"Now," Dad said. "About Felix Toombs . . ."

XXXXXXXXXXX

I got out shortly before noon only by promising Dad I'd said I was meeting Meg for lunch. "To study" was the excuse Meg's parents had, but Dad, like I said, knew better.

Did I convince him that I knew about the controversy over Felix just because I was friends with Weevil? I don't know. (It was true; Weevil would have likely taken care of the problem himself if we hadn't been fairly tight.) He didn't get as much time to grill me as he would have wanted; he started getting calls – from potential supporters, mostly, although there were a couple of reporters, and at least one person who hated the idea and had no problem telling Dad all about it, for the ten seconds Dad let him stay on the phone, anyway.

I got away, but I wasn't dumb enough to assume that either my explanations or the distractions had been enough to keep Dad from being suspicious.

Speaking of: On the way over to meet Meg, I got a call from Weevil. "So, your Dad's running for Sheriff again, huh?"

"That's a big yup," I said.

"Good."

"Good? He's a lot more competent than the clown in there right now."

"Yeah, but the guy in there right now doesn't give much of a shit when things happen to people like me. The Sheriff might run a tighter town, but he'll give us a fair shake."

"True, that. Changing the subject: You hear anything from the Red Diamonds?"

"Nothing I want to repeat. But I'm working on it."

"Cool. Have a good day."

"You too, V."

XXXXXX

We met at a coffee house – not Java the Hut, one that served sandwiches but still let people hang around for a couple of hours.

The best way to lie is, don't. "The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth" can be parsed out. The Mannings and Dad both had been told we'd been working on homework together.

So, we did homework. I had some math to work on, and she planned out an essay due in English in a couple of days.

But that's not all we did. "The truth and nothing but."

Of course we hashed out the previous night – she swore Duncan hadn't told her anything about the fundraiser in advance, either. "Not that I'd have been allowed to go, of course," she said. "It's not seemly for a woman to do anything in politics other than stand by the side of her husband and look pretty."

"Really?"

"Really," Meg said flatly, and I dropped the subject. Really, there wasn't anything else to say. It had already long been established that the Mannings' attitudes about women were stuck somewhere in the 1800's.

We got around to her talk with Johnny Gomez. "He was confused why I'd be calling about some fight that happened a few years ago, but he had no problems talking about it. The regular and JV baseball teams had been practicing at the same time; the running coach had kept a few of the kids out a bit early for some extra training in how to slide, and Peter and Marcos were two of them. When they came in, Buzz Truman – Caz's older brother – asked them a question, and then Marcos stepped up and punched him in the jaw. Other players stepped in, Peter tried to defend Marcos, and all hell broke loose." She shook her head. "I can't figure out why the question bothered them. Hell, it didn't even make sense; Peter and Marcos were both infielders."

I thought I knew what the question had been. And it figured that a jerk like Caz would have an older brother who was just as much of a jerk. It also figured that Meg would be innocent enough not to get the reference, even though she went to Neptune High. She wasn't naïve in general, but about certain topics?

Oh boy.

Still, I had to ask to be sure. And I was right.

The question that got Peter and Marcos so pissed?

"Yo, dude, which one of you's the pitcher and which one of you's the catcher?"


	12. Let's Go to the Tape

Of course, the next thing I had to do was explain to Meg what "pitchers and catchers" meant.

She wasn't _that_ naïve; it only took her a few seconds, after which her reaction was, "Buzz was a big a poophead as his brother, wasn't he?"

Caz had dated and harassed Sabrina Fuller after they broke up; he hadn't stalked her, exactly, but he wasn't the nicest person on the planet, either. "Sounds like."

"Would simply suggesting they were gay have been enough to set them off, though?" Meg asked. "I mean, Neptune's not perfect, but it's fairly gay-friendly."

This much was true. For all of its class divide, Neptune prided itself on being "enlightened" when it came to race and sexual preference. Like most things Neptune prided itself on, it fell well short of the ideal, but it was well down the list of problems the town had.

"And," Meg said. "Coach Calhoun certainly wouldn't have had a problem. His son's gay."

"There's still something of a stigma attached to being a gay athlete, though," I said. "You can count the number of out gay men in team sports on the fingers of one foot."

"How well do you know Peter or Marcos?"

"Not very," I said. "Why?"

"Neither one of them is hypersensitive," she said. "Neither one of them would have gone berserk, even then, simply because someone made a mean reference to either one of them possibly being gay. Peter's out now, anyway."

"Marcos?"

"I don't know if he's gay," Meg said. "I do know that his parents are the kind that, if he was, would throw him back in the closet and throw away the key."

"Well, _something_ about the 'joke' set them off," I said.

"Yeah. But does it link back to Woody Goodman in any way, or did simply bringing it up make them uncomfortable?"

"All he did at the ballpark was point them out and say how great it was having them on the team," Meg said. "How does that link?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. That's a good question. The only links are that it was baseball, and they were uncomfortable."

"Okay," she said. "I think I know where I'm going to go from here."

"Where?" I asked, but didn't get an answer, because right then Dr. London called. "Veronica," she said. 'What the hell kind of fire did you light under Don Lamb?"

"None that can be traced back to me, I hope," I said. "What's going on?"

"What's going on is that Lamb just came over and interviewed me for a half hour on why I thought Felix Toombs had been killed, and now he's rattling the cage of the hospital directors to see if he can get access to the tapes from that day."

"How did my name came up?"

"I told him that you and Mr. Navarro were the only ones who'd taken me seriously and that if he thought he was going to take over the case he needed to let you know if he saw anything. He said it was only because he'd talked to you that he was talking to me in the first place."

"It – came up this morning while he and Dad were having a discussion," I said.

"I don't see how," she said.

"Not one of my finer moments," I said. Nothing I was going to go hang my head in shame about, but nothing I was going to brag about either.

"No," she said. "But anyway, if you want to see the tapes you might want to haul your ass over here. Lamb didn't seem like he was in the mood to take no for an answer."

"You're at work?" I blurted out.

"Do you think emergencies take the weekend off?" she said.

"Good point."

"Yeah, you're smarter than that, Miss Mars. Anyway. How long before you can get here?"

In Neptune, traffic was never an issue, barring a massive accident, so –"If I hustle I can get there in 20 minutes."

"Make it 15. See you then."

"Bye," I said and as I was hanging up I was already standing up and reaching to pack my stuff.

It was already packed and ready to go, and my coffee was now in a to-go cup. Meg was sitting there smiling.

"I love you, Meg," I said.

"Back at you, Veronica Mars. Now go," she said. "We can finish up later."

"Thanks," I said, and began digging for my share of lunch.

Putting her hand on my arm, Meg said, "I got it. Go."

"You sure?"

"Go."

So I went.

XXXXXXXXXX

I made it across town in 17 minutes and walked straight to Dr. London's office when I got to the hospital. Fortunately, the place wasn't busy, so Dr. London was actually in the office instead of treating someone.

"Have a seat, Miss Mars," she said as I came in. "Lamb's on his way back down here now."

"Do you have a closet I can hide in?" I said before I sat down.

"You are not jumping out and surprising him. Business isn't bad enough that I need to drum it up by giving the sheriff a heart attack."

"Ruin my fun," I said, sitting.

"That's what doctors do. Now. Your Dad was talking with Lamb? About his running for Sheriff, I'm guessing?"

"Got it in one."

"He's got my vote," she said. "I'm glad Lamb's finally taking this seriously but it shouldn't take you and your Dad to get him to do his job."

"I'll tell him. He'll be grateful for the support." Dr. London wasn't exactly an 09'er, but l'd looked into her life when she was the one treating me for my gunshot wound. Top of her class at Johns Hopkins Medical School. I don't mean "in the top 5%," I mean literally number 1 in the class of 1983 across the entire division. She wrote her own ticket. So while she wasn't rich beyond the dreams of avarice, she had plenty of pull, when she chose to use it.

There was a knock on the door. "Enter," she said.

"It took some doing," Lamb's voice came, "But I – oh. Hello, Veronica." His voice was very carefully neutral. I had to give him props for the acting job.

"Go on," Dr. London said. "Whatever you're going to tell me, you can tell Veronica too."

He said, "Okay, then. I was finally able to pry the security footage out of them. I was hoping you would look at them with me and mention anyone you recognized."

Lamb was cooperating. I didn't want to needle him.

Okay, I did – when do I ever not? – but I restrained myself. I simply looked over at Dr. London, who nodded once and said to Lamb, "Sure. That's a good idea. We'll follow you right down."

"We?" he asked.

"We," Dr. London said firmly.

Lamb looked like he wanted to argue, but somehow he restrained himself too, and said, "Sure. That's a good idea. Another pair of eyes can never hurt."

"Let's go to the tape!" I said cheerfully.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of us were sitting in the hospital security office. Security itself had been invited out; Lamb, as it turns out, was perfectly capable of manipulating their video system. Another talent the man had. Good. He could fall back on it when we evicted him from office next month.

So far, we'd seen nothing. There wasn't any film inside his room, of course.

While we watched, something occurred to me: "Patient vital signs are monitored from the nurse's station, right?"

"Right," Dr. London said.

"How long did it take the nurses to show up when Felix's fell to zero?"

"Around 45 seconds."

"I have no idea; how's that compared to normal?"

"A bit high, considering where the room is compared to where the station is. Not 'someone's got to be fired' level, but not terrific. Why?"

"Trying to figure out how long someone would have to kill someone and get out."

"Not that long. And look. See the glass walls?"

"That's one of the reasons I actually didn't think it was murder," Lamb said. "There's a clear view from the nurse's station to every room."

"You can't see everywhere from everywhere," Dr. London said. "It's only a couple of steps, in most cases, but that would give someone maybe 10 seconds if they were lucky."

"Still hardly enough time to run down the hall when everyone's looking in your direction," Lamb said.

He'd thought this through. I was genuinely impressed.

We were watching the cameras covering both nearby intersecting hallways for about half an hour before Felix died. This had happened in the middle of the night, so there shouldn't have been any non-hospital workers roaming around anywhere except the emergency department. Dr. London identified everyone she saw: Mostly nurses, but one doctor and a member of the hospital janitorial staff.

"Are you sure?" Lamb said.

"I know most of the staff in the hospital, at least by sight," Dr. London said. "That's T. J. Usually works the night shift."

T.J. was a short black man; I would have said he was built like a linebacker if he didn't look like he was only a little taller than I am. He greeted both of the nurses at the station and started to empty trashcans.

A couple of minutes later, he walked back down the hallway he'd come in.

The doctor – a woman named Mahmoud – walked down the hall and looked in a couple of the rooms. Then she said something to the nurses – "Probably wake me up if there's a problem, and by problem I mean someone had better be dying," Dr. London said. "Vicki's a terrific doctor but she has a lousy disposition."

A few minutes later another janitor walked in. Not the same one. This guy was taller and he seemed to be Hispanic and not black –

Hold it.

"Stop the tape," I said right as Lamb did so. "Okay. You saw something too," I said to the sheriff.

"Yeah. I did," Lamb said sourly.

"What is it?" Dr. London asked.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," I said, "But aren't uniforms made to _fit?_"

Lamb said, "This guy's is at least six inches too short."

"I told you so," Dr. London said.


	13. Better Than

Reminder: Justine London's mine; so are Zombie Mike and Puck, if they ever show up; and Lamb's not being as big of an ass because of the multiple successive public failures he had, detailed in my previous story.

XXXXxxxxxxx

"I'm getting damn tired of hearing that phrase," Lamb said. Right; that's what I'd said to him after finally exposing Cassidy Casablancas as my rapist last spring.

"Then stop being wrong," I said. Okay, it slipped out. Lamb was being cooperative, maybe even trying to help solve the case of who'd killed Felix, and to be fair, we wouldn't be seeing the tape unless Lamb had rattled the cages of the hospital bigwigs.

But still. There's only so much a girl can take sometimes. And I didn't want him wondering why the hell I was being so cooperative.

"I'm trying," Lamb said.

"I know," I said neutrally. I couldn't bring myself to give him a "There, there," and tell him it would be okay. But as long as he was pointed in the right direction, I didn't want to cut loose, either. Not right yet.

I could manage civil. I'd been doing it for the last couple of hours, even though Lamb was one of the last people I wanted to spend time with. So I would be civil.

"Can we keep watching?" Dr. London said. "Maybe we'll see who did it."

He kept his head down as he dry mopped the hall.

"It's not Weevil Navarro," I said.

"I didn't think it was," Lamb said.

"Just wanted to be sure." Lamb was prone to taking the easy way out. I wanted to make sure Weevil wasn't the easy way.

Not that I'd be happy if he just randomly picked a PCH'er and decided he'd done it for convenience's sake, either. Weevil had earned a preemptive strike.

And it fairly clearly wasn't Weevil. I knew him well enough to be able to tell this, and no, I hadn't been checking out his ass, thank you very much.

"How did they not notice the uniform was made for a Smurf?" I asked.

Irritably, Dr. London said, "No idea. But I'm going to find out."

We watched the tape as the not-janitor went down the hall. He seemed to know where the cameras were. Lamb switched the other camera as he passed it, and the man kept his head down and turned to the wall as he passed. "It would be nice if places would have floor-level cameras," Lamb said, frustrated.

"Wouldn't those be easier to reach?" I asked.

"Yeah," Lamb said. "But I'm not saying you have to have them be out in the open where any idiot can see them."

"I've seen things where you can magnify the reflection on the passing glass," I said.

"Yeah. We don't have that in Neptune. It'll take a while to ship it out."

The fake made his way down the hall to Felix's room. Then he snuck a look around – the nurses obviously weren't paying attention – leaned the mop against the wall, and walked into Felix's room.

Four minutes later an alarm started blaring.

The killer – hat on head, head still down – jumped out of the room a few seconds later, flung the mop to the floor, and began yelling and gesturing to the nurses to get their butts over there, something was happening.

"Son of a bitch," Lamb said. "He didn't hide." The nurses came running past the man maybe thirty seconds or so after that, followed right after that by Dr. Mahmoud.

"He hid in plain sight," I said. "He figured no one would look at the janitor twice."

"And he was right," Dr. London said. "When I asked the nurses what had happened they barely mentioned the yelling janitor."

And when the nurses and the doctor had passed him, the fake, still concealing his head, sprinted down the hallway and out of sight.

"What do you want to bet he changed clothes and strolled out a back exit somewhere?" I said.

"Probably," Lamb said. "I'll need to see more of the tapes for that than just these, though. Dr. London, you were right. Felix Toombs was murdered."

"The tape shows it clear as day," Dr. London said. "But why was the hospital board so unwilling to show them?"

"I've got that one, Donnie," I said. This was mild enough that he wasn't getting angry. Good. I was spacing these out nicely. Since my slip-up had gotten him to focus on Felix Toombs, I didn't want him to get pissed at me and start focusing on something else.

I went on, "Because the motto of this town isn't what it says it is on that sign people see as they drive in; it's 'Sit down, you're rocking the boat.' And showing the tape rocks the boat, because it shows that the nurses in question weren't doing their job properly, and that security screwed up by letting the killer wander the halls of a hospital at 4 in the morning, and that a murderer walked out right past them."

Turning off the machine, Lamb stood up and said, "I'll go get the rest of the tapes from the board, then go back and read the coroner the riot act. By this point, Mr. Toombs has been in the ground a good two months and it'll take a court order to get him exhumed."

"Maybe not," I said. "Just convince his parents you're taking the death seriously. They might cooperate." And they might not; the general opinion of the town's underclass of Lamb was about the same as mine. I didn't bother telling Lamb that part; it was worth a shot, after all.

"Good point," he said, and sounded like he meant it. "Now, Veronica: I understand you've actually been working on this case, right?"

I thought about fluttering my lashes and saying, "Why, Sheriff Lamb, I have no idea what you're talking about." Mock innocence tended to piss him off more than anything. Instead, though, I simply said, "Yes."

"I suppose if I told you that this was an active case now and to leave the investigating to the professionals you'd ignore me."

"And then I'd raise holy hell," Dr. London said. "Veronica took me seriously. You're not going to shut her out now."

"And you're right. I'd ignore you."

"It may take me a while, but I learn," he said. "Look. Just tell me anything you find out before you take it to the newspapers."

"Worried about losing credit? And you were doing so well, Donnie. The important thing isn't who gets the credit. The important thing is finding out who killed Felix. If you figure it out, I'll –"be very surprised―"Congratulate you and be happy and that a murderer is behind bars." And if he does, I won't try to take the credit, or give it to Dad. I don't like Lamb, I never will like Lamb, and I'll twist the knife when I can, but I'm not going to outright lie to make him look bad.

I'm better than him.

He ignored me and said, "What do you have?"

"A lot of suspicions," I said honestly. "Look. I've been working this mostly from the angle of figuring out who stabbed him in the bar fight, because that would be the person most likely to want him dead." The guy in the video was fairly clearly not Zombie Mike or Puck. Puck and T.J. were built the same, and Zombie Mike was a good deal taller and paler than – well, anyone but an albino basketball player, if what I'd heard was accurate. "The only thing I've established for sure is that it wasn't Weevil, it wasn't the leader of the Red Diamonds, and it wasn't the bartender." I didn't tell him that it almost certainly had to have been Thumper, Allie, Zombie Mike or Puck, because while I was pretty sure about those, I couldn't honestly say I knew that.

"Okay. Good to know. Thank you."

He left the room. A few minutes later, we walked out and headed back in the direction of her office.

"How can you stand being in the same room with the man for that long?" Dr. London finally asked.

"He was surprisingly cooperative," I said. "There were times I was biting my tongue -"

Dr. London snorted. "I'm surprised you didn't rip it clean it off. Knowing what the man did to you?" In case you're wondering, she knew the full story. Lamb had been by my room a couple of times and she'd seen how I reacted to being in his presence, and had asked, and since I liked the woman and was fairly sure she liked Lamb as much as I did, I'd told her.

"Yeah. I'm not saying it was easy. But I had to do it."

About to say something, she stopped and looked at me hard. Then she said, "You're up to something, aren't you?"

"Little ol' me?" I said in a phony Southern accent.

"Don't give me that, Veronica. I can't believe you're playing games with Sheriff Lamb over Mr. Toombs' murder."

Deadly serious now, I said, "I wouldn't. Everything I told him was the truth. I'll be delighted if Lamb solves the case. Really. Stunned and shocked, but delighted."

"Then what are you up to?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

'How's your shoulder doing, Veronica?"

A bit surprised by the non sequitur, I said, "Fine. No problems at all. Why?"

She said, "And now doctor-patient confidentiality kicks in."

I may have mentioned it before, but I _liked_ this woman. "Okay. Two things can happen here. Either Lamb solves the case, or he doesn't. If he solves it, more power to him, but it's not likely to impress anyone. Other than you and Weevil Navarro, it's not like a whole lot of people were agitating for the police to investigate Felix's death in the first place – and those who know, who pay attention, aren't particularly big fans of Lamb in the first place. He's just ticked off the hospital board by browbeating the tapes out of them that make them look bad, so they're not his biggest fans right now either. Can't say I planned that part, but I'm happy it happened. And if he doesn't solve it? Or, even better, if I beat him to it?"

"He'll look like an even bigger idiot than he already does." Dr. London was grinning. "That's positively Machiavellian."

"I've been told I resemble the man, yes."

Like I told you folks earlier about Lamb:

_I'm better than him_.


	14. Big Dick Rides Again

Towards the end of the chapter, there's some dialogue from Cheatty Cheatty Bang Bang.

XXXXXXXXXX

Much as I'd like to pretend that I'd planned that all along, I'm not_ that_ egotistical. I'd worked out my plan, such as it was, between the time Dr. London called me and the time I walked into Dr. London's office – 20 minutes, all told. If Lamb was going to look into Felix's death, then I was going to encourage him just enough. And once we saw the proof – I'd known there would be, I trusted Dr. London – that's when everything fell into place. Don Lamb may be lazy, but he's not going to ignore an obvious murder shoved in his face, even if I was the one doing the shoving.

Everything had worked out perfectly. Good.

The rest of the day? Anticlimax. Thank goodness. I got home and Dad wasn't there, leaving me to walk Backup – who was in the mood for a brisk hike – and fix dinner.

Dad got in a bit after 6. "Guess where I've been?"

"The dark side of the moon."

"No. And there is no dark side. You should know that."

"The light side of the moon?"

"Nowhere on the moon," Dad said.

"Well then, I just give up."

"I've been over at Lynn's, meeting with Woody Goodman and _his_ campaign manager."

"What campaign?" I asked. "Woody Goodman's running unopposed. Their slogan is 'vote for Goodman, 'cause there's no one else out there'."

"Yup. The man's bored out of his skull. Not that he doesn't like the five figures Goodman's paying him –"

"Five figures? We're not going to blow our whole budget on this guy, are we?"

"_Our _budget?" Dad said amusedly.

"Yup. You're not shutting me out of this."

He chuckled. "I'd never planned to, sweetie. No. Woody's lending him to me. I'm giving him $500 to comply with campaign regulations, but that's the only money I'm giving him."

"Any ideas from the guy – and really, I should know his name."

"His name's Archie Boudreau," Dad said. "You'll get a chance to meet him later this week. Tuesday night at 8 we're having a meeting at Lynn's. Boudreau wants you there."

"Really?" I asked. It was one thing to expect Dad to informally consult me, and another thing entirely to expect a pro to want to meet with me officially.

"Yup. You won't believe this, but he liked your billboard idea."

"Why wouldn't I believe that? It was a good idea!" Okay, I hadn't thought it was the kind of idea a professional political consultant would like, but I'd still thought it was a good way to stick the knife into Donnie again.

"That it was," Dad said. "And that's why. He actually wants to hear what you have to say – figures you might be able to get young people to vote for me."

"He does realize I'm too young to vote, right? And so is pretty much everyone in my class?" A few of them weren't, of course, but in general, there are very few 18-year-olds in high school when election day rolled around.

"You're close enough, sweetie."

One more thing hit me: "Tuesday night? Aren't we usually busy Tuesday night around 8?"

XXXXXXXXXX

Dad asked what I'd done with my afternoon; I told him I'd spent most of it with Meg, and the rest plotting the overthrow of an evil overlord.

I don't know why he didn't believe me; it's not like that's a lie, or anything.

I gave Meg a quick call before dinner; she was fine, and she thanked me for my homework help, and didn't bring up Peter and Marcos at all. A sure sign at least one of her parents was listening in.

After Dad and I ate, I went back to my room and called Weevil. I'd tried earlier, of course, to let him know that Lamb was also on the case, but he hadn't answered.

"Yo, V," he said when he picked up. "Got your call. Haven't had the chance to get back. What's up?" So I explained to him what had happened that afternoon. As I expected, he wasn't thrilled. "Lamb's in. That ain't good."

I didn't think he'd be interested in my Machiavellian manipulations, so I simply said, "Dr. London and I were with him the entire time. He sounds like he's taking it seriously. Well, for him, anyway."

"You know how he is. He saw that the guy who came in looked Latino, so he'll just shake down the PCH'ers and pick the one who looks most like the killer."

"Does the description fit anyone on the Red Diamonds?" I asked.

"They're a mixed crew. Mostly Anglo, but they got a few folks who ain't. They're regional; there ain't enough of them out where they base to be too choosy."

"Lamb knows I'm looking over his shoulder."

Scornfully, Weevil said, "Yeah. Like that's ever stopped him before."

"Look, I don't have high hopes for him either. The man's an incompetent, lazy, grudge-holding jackass. But look at it this way: Either he gets it right, in which case they'll have caught the bastard who killed Felix, or he gets it wrong, and he'll look like an even bigger jerk, publicly, than he already does, and then I'll swoop in and solve the crime. Win-win."

"That sure you're going to solve it? This ain't something you should be cracking jokes about, V."

Why does everyone think I'm joking? "Yes, I'm sure. And as far as taking this seriously goes, do you think I would have spent an hour inside a small room with Don Lamb if I wasn't sure? I wouldn't spend five minutes in a gymnasium with the man if it wasn't for a damn good reason." Then, slightly changing the subject, I said, "Any news from the Red Diamonds?"

"Yeah, they want to have a clambake," he said sarcastically. "Bring your board and your suit."

"That's a no."

"That's a hell, no. They ain't interested in any conversation I got anything to do with."

Damn. "So they'd rather you come gunning for them?"

"Guess so. Maybe they think I ain't going to be fair about it. Truth be told, they got no reason to believe me."

"It's either me or Lamb," I said. "Try one more time. Hell, give them my number and tell them to call me directly."

"You ain't doing this on your own," Weevil said, like that was an established fact or something.

"How am I supposed to figure out what happened, then?" I said. "Because you sure as hell know I'm not getting the full story from your boys, there aren't any security cameras, I'm not Batman to beat the answer out of them, and I'm not a time traveler so that I can go back and look for myself. You want me to to guess, or you want me to know?"

"And if I said fine, take your fee, we're done?" Weevil said.

Overprotectiveness. Everyone's selling. But who's buying?

"I'd keep investigating," I said. "You know that. If nothing else, someone has to keep Lamb in line."

"Shit. I believe you." An audible sigh from the other end of the phone. "How about this, then? We go talk to the bartender."

"He spent the entire fight hiding behind the bar."

"Yeah, that's what he says, 'cause he's afraid someone'll kill him if he says he saw something, because then maybe he'll have to talk to the cops," Weevil said. "That a good enough compromise for you?"

I suppose it couldn't hurt. It would still be dangerous, but probably less so than actually trying to sneak into wherever the Red Diamonds were hanging out.

Unless, of course, they were hanging out there that night, in which case I was screwed. I'd have to make sure Mr. Taser was fully charged, just in case.

Actually –

"When does this place open?" I asked.

"'round 4. Why?"

"Good. Then we'll head there right after school tomorrow and be there when they open. That way we're less likely to catch anyone else hanging around. Last thing we want is a handicap match, you and me vs. every Red Diamond there is."

Weevil said, "Didn't realize you were a wrestling fan."

"I am a woman of mystery," I said, well, mysteriously.

A laugh. "That you are. See you tomorrow after school, V."

And that was about it on excitement for the weekend. But I'd say that's enough, wouldn't you?

XXXXXXXXX

Next day, it was time for fun, if by fun you mean "extracurricular activities." Apparently my newspaper work wasn't quite enough, and it had been suggested that I might want to "beef up my resume."

Note to self: Another reason to try to get the Kane scholarship, so I could stop doing things like this pretty much just for the exercise.

Alas, that was in the future, and it was assuming that the Kanes lived up to their word, instead of the idea of handing me, Veronica Mars, a scholarship being more than they could bear. So here I was, during "free" period, sitting in a classroom with other people in the same boat: College applications due in three months, scholarship applications in six. Since most of my extra-curricular activities cannot be divulged under state law, that leaves me with this. As of now, I'm a Future Business Leader of America.

Apparently Mr. Pope was waiting for me to show up, because he started the class the second I sat down, next to Logan, with Duncan on the other side. He said, "I''d like to begin our local profile series by introducing the CEO of Casablancas Enterprises, Mr. H. Richard Casablancas."

Terrific. Big Dick Casablancas.

He was just as thrilled to see me, because as Mr. Pope was saying, "All right, Mr. Casablancas," Big Dick said, "What's _she_ doing here?"

No points if you think the "she" was anyone but me. From the tone in his voice, it was like I was a rapist, or something.

No, wait. That was his son.

In any event, considering that this was the man who'd raised an asshole, in Dick, and a monster, in Cassidy, I felt absolutely no obligation to be nice to him. "She's a Future Business Leader of America, Mr. Casablancas. I'm bright-eyed, bushy tailed, and eager to learn." Butter, in my mouth, would not melt.

"You're not going to learn a damn thing from me," he said. "Look, Pope. Either she goes or I do."

Okay. This? Not quite what I'd expected today.

But then,when are things ever?


	15. Big Bird Convention

Logan and Duncan both looked like they were going to say something to Big Dick Casablancas' ultimatum, but I held up my hands. I wanted to see how Mr. Pope would respond.

He did so faster than I'd expected, saying, "Fine. Miss Mars – everyone – it looks like we're going to have a free discussion period today, instead of the lecture I'd hoped."

Big Dick couldn't believe his ears. "What?"

"Miss Mars is a member of the group. You're a guest. You can give the lecture to everyone, or you can leave."

"This is why you're a teacher and I'm rich," Casablancas said. He looked around in disbelief, picked up his stuff, and walked out.

"Okay . . ." Mr. Pope said after Big Dick had slammed the door. "So. What can we learn from this?"

"That Veronica Mars ruins everything?" came a voice from the back of the class.

"If that's the lesson you choose to take, Mr. Fields, then my advice to you is this: In business, and in life, stay away from Miss Mars." He straightened up. "That's not the lesson I get, though."

"Like son, like father?" This from Logan.

"More accurate, but beyond the scope of the club," Mr. Pope said.

It went on like that for the rest of the period. When class ended, I went up to Mr. Pope and thanked him. "You have nothing to thank me for, Miss Mars. That's the way I would have handled any request by any guest asking me to do something do any student."

"You do realize that makes you exceptional around here, right?"

"It shouldn't," he said. "Now get going, Miss Mars. I don't want you to be late for your next class."

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, that was surreal," I said at lunch. It was me, Wallace, Mac, and Logan.

"You're telling me," Logan said. "I can't imagine he was too happy to see me there, either."

"That explains it," Wallace said. "During gym, we were outside on the soccer field and we heard a door slam in the parking lot and someone go roaring out like they were being chased by the cops. From the timeline I'm guessing that was big Dick."

"The very ass," Logan said.

"Well, apparently right now he's having some trouble with his latest wife, plus, little Dick's still being a jerk – so I hear." This from Mac.

"Really?" I asked. "And how would you know?"

"I don't just read the Neptune High discussion boards for _your_ amusement, Veronica. And despite the general opinion of the Casablancas family, there are still a few people out there who think little Dick got hosed and are in contact with him."

"Madison Sinclair?"

"And Shelly Pomroy, and Caz Truman, and Casey Gant, among a few others," Mac said. "Apparently Dick's bored as hell in the private school he's going to, and is one rule violation away from getting kicked out, at which point Big Dick says military school's his next option."

"Oh, to be a fly on that wall," Logan said. "The notion of Dick Casablancas saluting anything or anyone except a hot woman in a bikini, is incredibly amusing."

"Dude, really?" Wallace said.

Logan closed his eyes. "Not that kind of salute. Okay, that kind of salute, but not the way I meant it."

"Anyway," I said, "It's good to see Big Dick doesn't hold grudges."

"It's that finely-honed sense of observation that's made you the detective you are today," Logan said.

XXXXXXXXXXX

I tried to sneak off school grounds when the day ended, but Logan was having none of it. He wanted to do what we so often do after school – I'd say to get your mind out of the gutter, but with this? It belongs there - and I had to explain that I didn't have time, I had "an errand."

His eyes immediately narrowed. "What errand?"

"Oh, nothing big," I said.

"Machiavelli," he said. "I've known you long enough that the more casual you try to make something sound, the more worried I should be. What is it?"

So I told him I was meeting Weevil, and why. He frowned slightly at "I'm meeting Weevil" – the two of them might have come to a cease fire, but they would never be friends – but as to why –

"Are you insane?" he asked, politely.

"I don't think so," I said. "I've never been tested, but I think people would have noticed."

"Not if you hide it really, really well," he said. "Look. There has to be some other way for you to do this. The only reason you're remotely safe around the PCH'ers is because of Weevil. If a platoon of Red Diamonds show up, well, young Navarro is good, but he's not Batman."

"So are you saying that I should just let Lamb handle it?" I asked. "Really? Because that's the alternative, here. And Don Lamb trying his best is like Barney Fife trying his best, except Lamb's gun has bullets."

"I'd feel better if you had an army backing you up," he said.

"So would I. Got one handy?"

"I have me," he said. "And . . . Wallace!" he called out.

"What is it?" Wallace asked, jogging up.

"Miss Mars here needs bodyguards. You up?"

Alicia Fennel raised no fools. "What's going on?"

I wasn't about to explain it – Wallace is my friend, and I don't like it when my friends get hurt – so Logan did. When he was done Wallace swore.

Yes, Wallace swore. "Won't your mother rinse out your mouth?" Logan asked.

"My mother'll lock me in the attic till I'm 40 if she finds out," Wallace said. "So let's make sure she doesn't find out, okay?"

"No," I said.

"Excuse me?" Logan said.

"I said no. I don't want to get you guys hurt."

Logan said, "And we don't want you hurt. The best way for no one to get hurt is for us to all go on our merry way and not go anywhere with Weevil Navarro. Everyone – please – raise your hands if you think that's going to be the way this plays out."

Once again, there were no fools present.

Just then, Weevil rode up. "V!" he said. "You ready, or what?"

"Yeah. But we just got ourselves a couple of escorts."

Weevil looked as dubious as I felt. "Really?"

"Nothing on you," Wallace said. "You're a first-rate asskicker. But just in case – "

"No offense, but unless you two are a whole shitload tougher than you look that ain't gonna do all that much if all the Red Diamonds show."

"I don't think we'll be able to convince them," I said.

Weevil shrugged. "Hope it ain't your funeral. Hop on."

I hopped on behind Weevil and we took off, leaving Wallace and Logan scrambling to get to Logan's X-Terra. Stopping at the end of the school's driveway, Weevil asked, "You want me to try to lose 'em?"

I thought for a second. Apparently a second too long, because Weevil said, "Well?"

"No point," I said. "Logan seemed to be in the kind of mood where he'd call my father in if he completely lost track of us, and that would kill everything." I grinned. "Nothing saying you have to make it easy on them, though."

Weevil's grin was wider than mine. "I like the way you think, V."

And Weevil then led Logan and Wallace on a bumpy, twisting, turning ride from the school to the bar in question, a place past the northeastern edge of town called Jerry's Bar and Grill.

"Helpful hint," Weevil said as we got off. "Don't buy anything to eat. The grill ain't been clean since me and the boys started coming here."

"Wasn't going to, but thanks." The place looked dubious. I wouldn't have eaten anything that came out of there, up to and including a candy bar in its original wrapping.

We got there a bit before 4, and by the time 4 rolled around Logan and Wallace had caught up with us. "Next time you do that, just drag me behind the bike," Logan muttered. "It'll be faster and it won't hurt as much."

"Whatever you say, Echolls," Weevil said.

Wallace, for his part, was glaring at both of us, but he didn't actually say anything about the ride, instead saying, "What's the plan?"

"The plan is, you guys stay outside," I said. "Keep an eye out for anyone else coming in."

"Might want to pull that thing around to the side lot," Weevil said, pointing to the X-Terra. "It ain't exactly made for blending in anywhere but a Big Bird convention." If I haven't explained it recently, Logan's ride was the approximate color of a canary. It didn't blend in anywhere.

"Anyone around here likely to know it?" Wallace asked.

"That thing," I said. "Everyone around here knows it." At Logan's hurt expression, I said, "I love you, but you know I'm right."

"I gotta be me," Logan said.

"Good thing, 'cause no one else wants the job," Weevil said. "You guys stay out here. A mass of people come roaring in, call V and get the hell out."

"How big is a mass?" Wallace wondered.

"Use your judgment," I said. "Don't give us the 'run' signal for one or two people, unless they're built like pro wrestlers."

"Which pro wrestlers you got in mind?" Weevil asked.

"I will never tell," I said. Well, I won't tell him, anyway. Duncan and Logan both casually liked wrestling, and I'd picked up some of it through sheer osmosis.

"After you," Weevil said as he opened the door. There was an obligatory sign on the door mentioning that you had to be 21 or over to get in, but considering that that counted in the entire membership of both the PCH'ers and the Red Diamonds, obviously here? They didn't really care.

I walked inside and my eyes adjusted to the lowered lighting. The restrooms were to my right, the bar straight ahead and about 15 feet back. There were pool tables off to my right.

The bartender, behind the bar, was an overweight white male, maybe six feet even, in his, I'd say, late '30s. "Hey, Weevil," he said, a little nervously. "Little early, isn't it?" He was the only person in the bar.

"All we want to do is talk, Jay," Weevil said as we walked up to the bar.

"About what?"

"About the night Felix Toombs got stabbed," I said.

"I was hiding under the bar the whole time," he said immediately.

"Here's the thing," I said. "I don't think you were. I think you don't want to say what you saw because you're afraid someone's going to beat the crap out of you."

"Damn right. You think I'm an idiot? And he's one of the ones I'm afraid of."

"Why'd you be afraid of me?" Weevil said. "I ain't gonna hit you if you tell the truth."

"Yeah, you say that, then I say something you don't like, then I end up with my head in the sink tryin' to breathe water. No thanks."

A deep voice behind me said, seriously, "C'mon, Jay. We want to hear this too."

We both spun around. Standing there was a thin, tall, pale man – he would have to have been several shades darker to be called an albino – and a short guy, about my height, and probably not much more than my weight, either.

"Zombie Mike and Puck, I'm guessing?" I whispered to Weevil.

"Yeah. Why the shit didn't Echolls and Wallace let us know?"

"Well, let's be fair. Does either one of them look like a pro wrestler?"


	16. Diamonds in the Rough

"So," I said, "Which one of you's Zombie Mike and which one of you's Puck?" I asked.

Puck and Mike looked at each other, then laughed. It seemed like a genuine laugh. "Who's your friend, Navarro?" Mike asked.

"Veronica Mars," I said. "Currently trying to figure out what happened the night Felix Toombs got stabbed. I was hoping to get the story from Jay here, but he's afraid someone's about to shove his head into a toilet."

"He said sink," Weevil said.

"I stand corrected."

"I also wanted to talk to the two of you," I said.

"And I wanted to play some pool," Puck said. "I ain't in the mood for a fight right now."

"Good," I said. "I didn't come down here looking for one."

"Me neither," Weevil said. "Ain't saying I'm not ready, but V wanted to get a different view on what happened on the fight, and your boss ain't interested in having a sitdown."

Zombie Mike laughed again, and I have to say that for a guy who looked like he should be rising up from a grave shouting "I vant to suck your blood" while Buffy rolled her eyes and staked him, he had a deep voice. "Can you blame him? Last time it wasn't a sitdown, we beat the crap out of each other and your boy Felix ended up nearly dead. Anything you guys suggest? Probably a setup for revenge."

"Only revenge if one of the two of you stabbed him," Weevil said.

"We didn't," Puck said. "Look, we obviously ain't gonna play any pool till we hash this out. So let's do this and get it overwith, alright?"

"Alright," I said. "And where are you going?" I asked Jay, who was doing his damnedest to quietly sidle away.

The bartender gave a phony laugh and said, "Well, I figured you'd hash it out and I have a beer delivery coming in at 5 . . ."

"One more step," Weevil said

"Tell you what," Zombie Mike said. "You piss Weevil off, we'll stop him. You piss us off, Weevil'll stop us."

"And if I piss you both off?" Apparently Jay wasn't worried about what I'd do if he pissed me off. I would have to change that.

"Only way that's gonna happen," Weevil said, "Is if you killed Felix yourself, and you blamed it on the Red Diamonds."

"And you didn't do that, did you?" I asked cheerfully.

"No –"

"Good. Then don't worry. Just don't lie and everything should be okay." I have to note, I sounded a lot cooler than I was. Mike and Puck might have been fairly pleasant so far, but even if they hadn't stabbed Felix – I know damn sure they didn't , unless Mike was walking on his knees or Puck was using elevator shoes – that didn't mean they were happy to have Weevil in what they apparently considered their territory, and I was guessing their main reason for cooperating was what they said – they didn't want to get in a fight. "So, tell me," I said pleasantly. "What did you see?"

"I didn't see it start," Jay said, after looking nervously at each of us. "I was down at the far end passing out some drinks –" Weevil nodded at this; right, that's where he'd been when the fight started – "and I turn around and everyone's pounding on each other. More fighting by the pool tables than by the bathrooms, so I head down to that end of the bar. Puck, that's where you and that kid –" he snapped his fingers – "Ollie, I think? Weird name for a Mexican kid, but hey, I don't judge –"

"Short for Alcazar," Weevil said.

"Also wildly unimportant," I added.

"Right," he said. "Anyway, Puck was fighting with Allie, Felix and Mike were fighting –"

"This right so far?" I asked Mike and Puck.

"Yeah," Puck said. Mike agreed.

"Questions for both of you. Puck, you carry a knife?"

"Don't need one," he said. "I'm a black belt. Tae Kwan Do." He then went through a fast series of moves that showed both that he was a showoff, and that he knew what he was talking about.

"Okay. And you, Mike," I said. "You carry, right?"

"Sometimes," Mike said. "That night I was. Didn't bring it out. And wasn't Toombs stabbed, anyway?"

"He was," I said. "Weevil: How good's Allie as a brawler?"

Weevil said, "Not bad. He ain't no black belt, though."

"Okay. Puck, were you having an off day?"

Puck thumped his chest once and said, "I never have an off day."

"And you didn't break out the pistol," I asked Mike. "Why?"

"It was a fun fight," Mike said. "We weren't trying to kill each other, we were just beating the shit out of each other. We fight till the cops show, then we scatter and then we do it again later. We got nothing particularly against the PCH'ers."

"Well," Weevil said, "There's thing where you think the bar's in your space, and we know you're wrong. But yeah. Otherwise, we don't have any real beefs."

I asked, "A 'fun fight'?"

Weevil snorted. "I wouldn't call 'em fun. But there's a difference between a fight where everyone's blowing off steam and one where we're really trying to hurt each other. You wouldn't have a fight like this with the Fitzpatricks, for damn sure."

"Okay," I said, and made a mental note: Don't screw around with the Fitzpatricks. If it's dangerous coming here, then it would be downright suicidal trying to deal with one of them without armed backup. And I might seem sometimes like I don't care about my own safety, but I do.

It's just that some things are more important.

"But if you had wanted to hurt Felix, you could have shot him," I said, pointing to Zombie Mike, "and you could have given him a beatdown," now pointing to Puck. "Neither one of you would've stabbed him."

"No," Puck said. Mike echoed it a few seconds later.

"Wait a minute," Weevil said. I think he was getting where I was going, and I don't think he liked it all that much.

I said, "Hold on. Now, Jay, don't think we've forgotten you. What happened next?"

Reluctantly, Jay said, "A hand shot out from behind Mike and the guy who got stabbed and shoved a knife into his chest. I didn't see the face that went with the hand."

"Did you?" I asked Mike.

"No," he said curtly.

"Why not?"

Puck grinned. "Tell 'em, dude," he said. At Mike's continued silence he said, "Okay, if you don't, I will. Toombs had him shoved up against the wall."

Frowning, I said, "Doesn't sound like there'd be a lot of room to stick a knife in," I said, mentally picturing Mike flat against the wall and Felix holding him there. "Also doesn't sound that embarrassing."

Mike said, "I'm going to kill you," to Puck. "that's why I'm embarrassed. Toombs was holding me there with one hand."

Jay said, "That's how it happened. The one boy had Mike flat to the wall, and the knife came around his right under the arm pinning him."

"Wasn't me or Ollie," Puck said. "We were punching away when I heard the yell."

"Whose yell?"

"Mine," the bartender said.

"Okay, now. Million dollar question," I said. "Think hard, Jay. This will count for 100% of your final grade. What did the arm look like?"

"Huh? It looked like an arm."

I sighed. "I can't tell if you're actually stupid or just acting that way. What color was it?"

Silence was what I got in response, but his eyes darting over to Weevil told me everything I needed to know. It told Weevil everything, too. "How many people my shade you got in the Diamonds?"

"Two," Mike said. "Ray's one. You were fighting him. The other one wasn't even there that day."

"Yeah?" Weevil said. "How do I know that?"

I held up my hands. "Whoa. We're having a good conversation. Let's not stop it now just because you don't like the answer."

My phone rang. It was Wallace. "Six more guys just pulled up."

"Go," I said,and hung up. "Weevil, we've got to get out of here."

"But -"

"_Later_," I said.

"Let's make this easy," Mike said, and walked behind us to the door. When we got there, not only had Logan and Wallace not left the parking lot, but we were being approached by six more members of the Red Diamonds.

Suddenly I was shoved forward into the parking lot, followed a half second later by Weevil. I turned over and, out of the corner of my eye, saw Logan and Wallace jumping out of the X-Terra.

Wait. Zombie Mike and Puck weren't just screwing us over now. I was sure of it. I trusted that Weevil would figure it out, then turned and mouthed "NO" to Logan and Wallace. If they came in now-

"Ray told you to stay away from here," Mike said.

"We ain't interested in talking. So take your bike and your bitch and get out," Puck said.

Catching on, Weevil said, "Yeah. Okay. Figured it was worth a shot."

"We ain't gonna be so nice next time," Mike said. "You got twenty seconds to get out."

"We're going," I said. We stumbled over to Weevil's bike and left, followed shortly thereafter by Wallace and Logan.

"You know what that means about who probably killed Felix, right?" I asked when we stopped at a traffic light.

"Yeah. Dammit. And I ain't really in the mood for talking about it."

"Just don't go running off half-cocked, okay?"

I didn't get an answer.

Well, shit.


	17. Thumper Rabbits

Weevil dropped me off in the Neptune High parking lot.

Check that. "Dropped off" implies he slowed down for more than a second. I scrambled off directly behind by car, after which he took off. After his words to me at the traffic light, he didn't say a single word to me, no matter how much I tried to initiate the conversation.

I really didn't want Weevil roaring off to kill Thumper. I told him, every chance I got, not to do anything stupid. I realize that amounted to asking him to trust the system, which in Neptune is like asking someone to trust our alien overlords, but I still didn't want him doing anything that might get him arrested.

Wallace and Logan pulled up a few seconds later, in time to see Weevil leave Neptune High property at somewhere around 40 mph and accelerating, without bothering to do such petty things as stopping or looking where he was going.

"You okay?" Wallace asked. Logan just walked over and put his arm around me. I wasn't quite as emotionally battered as the situation might have indicated, but I appreciated the gesture.

"Yeah. Thanks, you guys."

"For what?" Logan murmured.

"For trusting me, back there," I said. "For not charging in and getting us involved in a fight that could have gotten us killed." I don't think the Red Diamonds would have killed us even if Logan and Wallace had waded in and started pounding, but that? Not remotely a risk I wanted to take. Getting myself in trouble? My choice.

Getting someone else in trouble? No. As much as they want to protect me, I want to protect them.

"I was about to," Logan said. "Wallace held me back."

"Did you now?" I asked.

Wallace said, "Yeah. I figured you knew what was going on." I gave him a thumbs up and grinned. There's a reason he's my best friend.

Logan flashed him a quick, dirty look, but it disappeared before Wallace saw it. Instead, he said to me, "What was up there with Weevil?"

"The investigation reached a conclusion he doesn't like," I said.

"One of his own people killed Felix Toombs," Logan said, not making it a question.

"Not only that, he knows which one," I said. "And no, I'm not telling you." I leaned against my LeBaron. "Question is now, what do I do about it?"

"Get your popcorn," Logan said. "Even I liked Felix."

"I'm not worried about what happens to – " I nearly said Thumper – "the killer. I'm worried about Weevil being the one to do it."

"Want us to find him?" Wallace asked.

"No," I said firmly. "The mood he's in, he'd go right through you, and you're too pretty to let him hurt that face of yours."

"I am," he said. "Seriously, though. What are you thinking?"

"I have no idea," I said. "Really. I'm not going to call the guy –"

Wait a minute.

"At least, I'm not going to call him _yet,_" I said. "Wallace," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Here's a number." I wrote down Thumper's number – I'd picked up it and some other PCH'er numbers when Weevil wasn't looking. "At my signal, unleash hell." Wallace raised hie eyebrows. "Okay, not hell. At my signal, call the number and tell the person at the other end, "Man, Weevil's found out what you did to Felix and he's pissed."

"Who am I calling?" I leaned forward and whispered Thumper's name into his ear. "Really?"

"No lie, Sodapop," I said. 

"Don't you trust me?" Logan asked.

"With my life and other things," I said. "But I'm assuming you're going to want to come with me when I go down to the Sheriff's Office."

"Why would you do that?" Logan asked.

"Because while being Veronica Mars, Girl Detective is kind of keen, I don't actually have any power to arrest people," I said.

"His power is always to arrest the wrong one," Logan said.

"Not when the Mars family agrees with him," I said. "And I think I've gone as far as I can on this."

"Okay," Logan said.

"Wallace – "

"Whenever you say," Wallace said.

"Thank you," I said, "I owe you one."

"Then try not to call me between 8 and 10," he said. "I got a date."

"Stud!" I said. "Jackie?"

"Yup. I solved her problem and moved on from there."

I'd barely said two words to Jackie Cook so far, but I hadn't heard anything horribly negative, so go Wallace. "I'll do my best," I said.

"Always appreciated."

When he left, I said, "Let's go."

We took my LeBaron, on the off chance some of the Red Diamonds might be gutsy enough to wander through town looking for Logan's X-Terra for some reason. After a minute or so, Logan said, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."

"I don't trust Lamb, I don't like Lamb,and I wish I could go to anyone else," I said, "But in Neptune, he's all we've got. At least for the next month or so, until Dad crushes him in the election." Note: I wasn't worried that I was handing Lamb a victory even if I convinced him Thumper was his man. I've explained why.

It still went against my instincts to go to Lamb. But this was murder. Murder needed the cops. Such as they were.

"Now," I said, "Here comes the hard part."

"We're still ten minutes away from the Sheriff's Office," Logan said.

"Dealing with Donnie Lamb? Never the hard part," I said. "Hi, Dad . . . "

XXXXXXXXXXX

Keith Mars was, as you may imagine, decidedly less than thrilled that I'd gotten myself involved in a murder case, but he agreed to postpone all yelling-related activities until after I talked to Sheriff Lamb.

I still beat him to the station, though. "Hey, Inga!" I said as I walked in. Inga had always liked the Mars family, and vice versa. "Lamb around?"

"Yes," she said.

"Any way I can talk to him?"

"Well -"

"I'm not in trouble and I don't plan on getting in trouble," I said. "Just ask. What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could fire me."

"Then you'd have yourself one heck of a wrongful termination suit," Logan said.

She said, "True." She picked up the phone. "Sheriff? Veronica Mars is here to see you." A stunned look came over her face. "He said to send you right in."

"My Dad should be here fairly soon," I said. "Send him back when he gets here, would you?"

Still shocked, all Inga could do was nod.

Lamb was sitting behind his desk with a grin so wide the Joker should have sued him for trademark infringement. He gestured for both of us to sit down, and as we did so, he said, "I got you this time," triumphantly.

"I'm fairly sure I didn't just turn myself in for anything," I said.

A look of confusion on his face, he said, "Huh? No, not what I meant. This time. I mean, I know who killed Felix Toombs."

"That's exactly what I came down to tell you," I said.

"Really?" he said.

"Really," I said.

"Okay. Who do you think did it?" The tone in his voice was cocky, but not sneering and dismissive. He seemed to be honestly convinced he'd figured it out.

"I'll write a name down," I said, "And hand it to you." I took a sheet of notepaper from his desk and wrote down "Thumper," on it.

He practically snatched it from my hand, looked at it, and said, "Ha!"

"Ha?"

"You're wrong," he said. "The person who killed Felix Toombs is named Eduardo Orozco!"

For the unaware: Thumper's real name?

You guessed it.

So I was torn between rolling my eyes and dropping my jaw. I settled for laughing. "What's funny?" Lamb asked. Logan, for his part, looked confused.

"Only you, Donnie," I said. "I am right, but you're not wrong. Thumper? Eduardo Orozco? Same person." Logan smirked. Only Don Lamb could triumphantly be completely right and completely wrong at the same time.

"Oh," he said. Then, slowly, he said, "We agree?"

"We do," I said.

I don't know how it was possible for his grin to get any wider, but I was seriously worried that his head above his lower jaw was about to fall off. "We agree," he said, almost to himself.

Right then, Dad opened the door. Actually, it's more accurate to say he burst into the room. I don't know what he was expecting, but I can hardly blame him, giving our history of interaction with nobody's favorite lawman. "What's going on?"

"The first thing that's going on," Logan said, standing up, "Is that I'm leaving. Two seats, and three people, on this side of the desk." He smiled at me. "Talk to you tomorrow."

"Assuming I'm let out of the house by then," I said. The look on Dad's face said that I had about as good a chance of that as I had of becoming an NFL linebacker.

He nodded to Dad, and then, almost unnoticeably, to Lamb, and said, "Good day," before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

"What's going on, Keith," Lamb said as though Logan hadn't even spoken, "Is that I've solved the case Veronica gave me yesterday. And Veronica agrees with me."

"Felix Toombs was murdered?" Dad asked.

Lamb said, "Yup. And Sacks and Leo are out there now getting ready to arrest him."

"Where are they? Are they close to his house?"

"Right now they're staking it out. Why?" Why were they staking it out? If Lamb had enough for an arrest, he could just get a warrant and have Leo kick down the door –

Of course. He's running for office. He doesn't want something big and showy even if it results in catching the right bad guy. He wants something quiet.

"Assuming you're waiting for him to leave on his own, I might be able to make that easier," I said.

"How?" Lamb asked skeptically. Dad's look was unreadable. He was upset, but he was still trying to catch up with what was going on.

"Let me make a phone call." I checked my watch; it was 6:30. Wallace had a while until his date. No one stopped me. "Yeah. It's me. Make the call." I hung up and said, "That should do it. Now, why do you think Thumper – excuse me, Eduardo Orozco – is guilty?"

"You first," he said. "I don't have to tell you anything." His tone of voice wasn't as hostile as it normally would have been, so I guessed he did want to tell me and was just jerking me around for the sake of it.

Donnie just never changed.

This is where things got fun. "Well, this afternoon I went down to Jerry's Bar . . . "

"By yourself?" Dad demanded.

"No. Weevil Navarro was with me." So were Wallace and Logan, but I wasn't going to get them in trouble. Weevil, I kind of had no choice on. Part of the reason I was doing this was to make sure Weevil didn't get arrested. "He's the one who hired me in the first place."

From the look on Dad's face he wasn't happy with the answer, but he didn't want to have it out in front of Lamb. "Go ahead," Lamb said.

And then I explained the whole investigation, up to the point where Weevil dropped me off. Dad was nodding along with my logic – he was willing to give me credit for that even if I knew he thought I should have been nowhere near the case.

When I was done Lamb said, "You didn't prove Eduardo Orozco killed Felix Toombs."

"I listened to the whole thing, Don," Dad said calmly. "Sounds like pretty good logic to me."

Lamb waved his hand in a "whatever" gesture. "Yeah. Actually, it does. Nothing that would hold up in court, but enough for an investigation. That's not what I meant."

He was going to make us drag this out of him. "So what did you mean?"

"It means you came up with a good idea of who stabbed Felix Toombs in a bar fight two months ago," Lamb said. "That's good. It's important. But it's not the same as proving who killed him!"

Son of a bitch. While this didn't affect my overall plan, it did mean I now had to admit Lamb was right.

On second thought, I wasn't giving Lamb even the satisfaction of hearing me that. What I did say was, "Good point. Still pretty important, though."

Feeling magnanimous, Lamb said, "Important supporting information. I got proof."

"Okay," I said. "What?"

Right then, the phone rang. "Great!" he said. "Haul his ass in. By the book. I don't want this one getting away." He hung up. "Eduardo Orozco just rabbited out of his place like it was on fire. Sacks and Leo caught him a block away and took him into custody with no problems."

"Good," I said sincerely.

"Who did you call?" Dad asked sharply.

"A friend," I said, making a mental note to erase my phone log. "Who was prompted to call Thumper and let him know Weevil knew everything and was after him. Since he took off right afterward –"

"He had to be guilty of something," Dad said. "Well done." That was not a "you're off the hook" well done, if you were wondering.

"Okay," Lamb said, leaning back in his chair. "Now. You want to hear how I figured out who killed Felix Toombs?" 

"I would _love_ to hear this."


	18. Lamb Scores Points

Throw the Son of a Bitch a Bone, but that's not actually a trope.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Okay [Lamb began], after we were done looking at the tape I got to thinking –

["You looked at security tape with him?" Dad asked.

"And Dr. London," I said.

That didn't seem to make it all better.]

I got to thinking about the uniform [Lamb continued]. You know, the one that the killer wore that was built for a Smurf. Then I got to thinking about the guy we'd already seen who wore that size uniform – Thomas Jarrett, the hospital janitor. So I went back and looked again. Got Leo as an extra pair of eyes.

We looked at the tape. It was the same uniform. Same stain on the back leg.

It was possible the killer had stolen a spare uniform, but if he had, what had happened to Mr. Jarrett? He wasn't done cleaning. So I checked to see if Mr. Jarrett had left early. He hadn't. Signed out at 8 AM, as usual. Worked other floors later in his shift. And that also meant our killer hadn't simply beaten Mr. Jarrett over the head and swiped his clothes, either.

[You know, the uniform thing? I have to say, it hadn't occurred to me to work that angle, considering I was already knee deep in trying to figure out who'd stabbed Felix, going by theory that once I figured out who'd stabbed him I had a guaranteed motive for someone trying again and succeeding.]

So [Lamb went on], I tracked down Mr. Jarrett and brought him in and laid it out for him. He wasn't hurt and he wasn't sick, so how the hell had our killer gotten his uniform? I told him what the uniform had been used for and threatened to have him arrested for accessory, conspiracy, and maybe the actual murder, if he didn't tell me who he'd given the uniform to.

He cracked and told me it was some Mexican dude. We ran through a photo array of young Latino males, and he picked out Eduardo Orozco and said the man had given him $500 to borrow his uniform, saying he just wanted to see his girlfriend, but her parents didn't approve of him . .. and he sure as hell wasn't going to turn down free money, so he went and hid out in an empty room for twenty minutes or so until the guy gave him his uniform back.

So I asked him why he didn't tell what had happened once he got back to work and found out that someone had died, he said that he thought it was just a coincidence and that the stories he'd heard about someone killing Felix Toombs were just stories, and anyway if the guy he'd given the uniform too had killed the guy, the only thing mentioning the uniform switch would do is get him fired and maybe arrested.

["He can't have actually thought that Felix's death was just a wacky coincidence," I said.

"He probably thought about it as little as possible," Dad said.]

Anyway, [Lamb said], that was pretty much it. I couldn't come up with a motive for Mr. Orozco to kill Felix until now, but if he's the guy who stabbed him in that bar fight, then making sure he didn't wake up and start talking sounds like a hell of a motive to me.

XXXXXXXX

Somehow, Lamb had pulled it off. I couldn't find a flaw in his reasoning, and figuring out how the killer had gotten the uniform had been clever. So, though it stuck in my craw to do it, I said, "That sounds good."

"You think so?" Lamb asked, equal parts cocky and pleased. "How about you, Keith?"

Dad said, "That's good police work, Don."

"You mean it?"

"Have I ever not been willing to give you a hard time when I think you deserve it?" Dad asked. "That should tell you something."

"All right," Lamb said. "Good. Maybe this'll show the people around here I can actually do the job."

And that's where the smile left Dad's face. Lamb still didn't get it. Yes, he'd probably gotten the right person here. But what he wanted out of it?

To score points.

Still. He wanted the Mars family's approval; he wanted the public's approval. And I suppose, in a vacuum, that might be tolerable, but this wasn't a vacuum.

I said, "Maybe it will," neutrally.

"Veronica," Lamb said crisply. "I'm going to need a full report of what you found and who you talked to at Jerry's Bar."

"She'll be in tomorrow immediately after school," Dad said. "Good enough?"

"Yeah, sure," Lamb said. "That'll do. See you tomorrow."

At the dismissal, we walked out. Dad and I said goodbye to Inga and were brought up short by the sight of Logan waiting out in the reception area. "It didn't occurred to me till after my dramatic exit," he said, "That you drove me down here. And while I'm all for exercise, I'm really not dressed for a several-mile jog."

"Drop him off by his car and come straight home," Dad said. "I know how long it takes. Don't take a minute longer." He left.

We passed Leo and Sacks bringing in a surly and cursing Thumper. "You!" he said. "You did this! I'll –"

"What, Thumper? You'll 'get me'? Pretty dumb to threaten me in the middle of the Sheriff's Office, isn't it? And anyway, I'm not the reason you're being hauled in."

"Yeah?" he said, not believing me. "Then whose fault is it?"

"Yours," I said.

XXXXXXXXXX

It indeed did take me that extra minute to get home – in fact, it took me two. But I called Dad and told him I'd been delayed by them bringing Thumper into the Sheriff's Office and he agreed not to hold it against me.

I warned Logan that I probably wouldn't be available for many extracurricular activities for a while, and that I really wasn't in the mood for anything we might be able to sneak in now, anyway. He wondered idly if Lamb had been an ass again, and I said, "For him? No. He's just proven once and for all that he doesn't, that he can't, learn. It's good news and bad news at the same time." And for the same reason, mostly: Good news because we got an insight into the caliber of the man we were dealing with, and bad news because this was the person the people of Neptune had been stuck with for sheriff for the last two years, all because Jake Kane had tried to cover up his son's part in a crime that his son hadn't actually done.

I walked inside and put my books down, and Dad had a couple of subs (from a nearby Quizno's) ready for us to eat. We finished the meal in silence.

Once the table was cleared off, Dad asked, "How much homework do you have tonight?"

"An hour's worth," I said. It had been a light day.

"Okay. Good. That gives us time for a discussion."

"I figured as much," I said. "This is where you ask what I was thinking, right?"

"I want you taking this seriously," he said.

Pointing to myself, I said, "This is me, being serious. I was just trying to shorten the conversation."

"Fair enough. So answer the question." Dad's tone of voice? Firm. Irritated. He wasn't screaming. That was good; at least, it made the conversation easier.

"I was thinking no one was else looking into who killed Felix Toombs, or who stabbed him, for that matter."

"That doesn't mean you have to," he said.

"Do you expect me to tell Weevil to take a flying leap?" I asked. "How about Dr. London?"

"Dr. London was involved?" Dad asked.

"Yeah. Dr. London knew that his death in the hospital hadn't been natural."

"Okay," Dad said. "Still doesn't mean you had to be the one investigating."

"You were busy; the coroner had just about convinced Deputy Lamb it was natural, so the cops weren't involved; and Weevil was fighting off internal pressures – a lot of them from Thumper, now that I think about it – to just say, screw it, and go after the Red Diamonds in a full-blown war. He was trying to avoid that. And the only other choice for PI'ing in our fair town is Vinnie Van Lowe, and Weevil? Deserves better than that. So it was me, or nothing. Would you really have wanted me to tell Weevil to handle it himself?"

Dad was nodding his head slowly. "That explains why you took the case in the first place. I still don't like it – not one bit, I don't want you involved in murder cases – but I at least get your thinking. But – sweetie – what the hell were you doing hanging around gang members who aren't Weevil Navarro? Especially a bar where – never mind how you got in in the first place –"

"Everyone in that bar during the fight and when I went down there was under 21 except for the bartender himself. I didn't need any ID. I'm fairly sure the guy lets in anyone who doesn't need to be pushed in in a stroller." That, Lamb would catch. I didn't know if Jerry's was in his jurisdiction, but he'd be able to threaten the owner with closing the place down unless the bartender cooperated.

"Good to know, but not important right now," Dad said a bit irritably. I held myself back from saying that he brought it up. Dad was upset now, but he wasn't boiling mad and I hoped to keep it that way. "A bar were," he continued, "Felix Toombs had been stabbed, and a bar that was at the center of a territory dispute between two rival gangs! That was stupid, Veronica!" Backup raised his head – he was lying next to the couch – and came over next to us.

He didn't like it when we fought.

"It worked" wouldn't work on Dad, so, "It worked, didn't it?" Damn. "Look, I knew it was a risk."

"A risk?" Dad said. "Don't you think you're understating things here?"

"Okay, I knew it was a big risk," I said. "But I'd tried everything else."

"I thought you learned your lesson," Dad said. "Doing this kind of thing got you shot."

Whoa. Hold the damn phone. "I got shot standing on Lynn Echolls' front porch. I went to a crappy bar and spent time around gangbangers and came out unscathed. So I guess what you're saying is I need to spend more time hanging around dive bars with thugs." I stood up. "I'd also like to point out that doing this also helped figure out who shot me, who kidnapped Lynn, who raped me, who killed Lilly, and a whole truckload of other things."

"I want better things for you," he said.

"Better than following in your footsteps? Fat chance. There's nothing better than that."

"How often are we going to have this conversation?" Dad said.

"Until you agree that I'm right about this," I said.

"So, until the end of recorded time. Got it." Dad sighed. "Look. I don't like you taking the case and I really don't like you going out to places like Jerry's where bar brawls are a fact of life. I'm not going to try to stop you on the first, but on the second, you're still too young to legally be in a bar."

Okay. Not how I expected the end of that sentence to go. "So . . . "

"So, grounded until the end of the week," he said. "Except for the campaign meeting tomorrow, it's school, then home. I'll do my own office work. Got it?"

"A week isn't much of a punishment," I said. That thing over there, Veronica? That's a gift horse. Why don't you go look in its mouth?

"No. And I reserve the right to keep trying to persuade you to do better with your life. But I'm not going to punish you for doing what you do, either." He smiled slightly. "After all, you're just trying to be as awesome as I am."

Doing my best Alicia Silverstone, I said "As if!"

"Now go do your homework."

"Yes sir, Mr. Mars, sir."


	19. Score One for Machiavelli

Later that night Dad made sure I knew: He was still upset with me for doing what I'd done. But since I was nearly an adult, he wasn't going to punish me for making choices he disagreed with any more. He reserved the right to yell at me, to try to convince me I was wrong, and to punish me for actually doing things that were illegal, but not to punish me for simply doing something he would rather me not have done.

"I still expect you not to do things I explicitly tell you not to," he said. 'So don't think you have carte blanche to do whatever you want from here on out."

"Yes sir, Mr. Mars, sir."

"I like that. Salute next time."

The next morning, Dad made sure I wouldn't be going anywhere but school by driving me there personally. The arrest of Thumper had made the paper – the front page, even, though below the fold. The Mars family wasn't mentioned,and that was fine. Lamb hadn't been able to restrain himself from bragging about his detective work – semi-justified, in this case – but he also hadn't been able to stop himself from answering the question, "Didn't the County Coroner say that this was a natural death?" With "Well, the County Coroner was wrong."

One would bet the County Coroner, incompetent as the man had turned out to be, would not be happy about that.

Typical Donnie Lamb. Open mouth to brag, in comes the foot.

Logan and I managed to sneak in a few minutes of, er, quality time at lunch in the parking lot, but that was literally it, and we weren't going to push things too far, because Clemmons did occasionally wander through looking for people doing exactly what we were doing, or doing what we were doing could logically lead to.

I didn't see Weevil all day, and no one I talked to had any idea where he was, either. He hadn't gotten to Thumper before Leo and Sacks had, thank goodness, but he hadn't done anything else, either. I hoped Thumper didn't get out on bail – not that that was likely, with murder and attempted murder charges hanging over him – because if he did he was dead the second he hit the street.

Meg hadn't made any further progress with her case – I hadn't expected her to; her Sundays were usually booked solidly with church and family activities.

The strangest thing was that Mr. Pope said that Big Dick Casablancas had called him to apologize and said that he would be happy to come do a replacement class. I thought that was strange, but the Future Business Leaders club met Monday and Friday, so I suppose I'd find out then.

Most of the people I talked to about Thumper's arrest weren't particularly impressed with Lamb, and that included Ms. Stafford and one of the cafeteria workers, who could actually vote.

I also found out from Duncan that his mother had, italicized, capitalized, and bolded, _not been happy _that Duncan had shown up at a fundraiser for Dad. Didn't he know what that man had done? And furthermore, they were going to be backing Don Lamb officially, and –

Duncan had told his mother he wouldn't be backing Don Lamb, officially or anything else. He wouldn't "embarrass" her any further, but he couldn't support the person who'd arrested the wrong man in the death of his sister, and he was surprised she could.

That had shut her up. "Tell me you recorded this," I begged.

"Sorry, no," he said. "But I meant that. If Mom wants me not to publicly back your Dad, I will, but I told her I'd rather support the honest and competent guy over the lazy and incompetent one."

True to his word, Dad picked me up immediately after school and took me directly to the Sheriff's Office. I asked him what he thought of Lamb's handling of the case, and he said, "Don never was as incompetent as he comes across sometimes. His big problem is more that he's lazy – he looks for the easy way out. When he puts his mind it, he's always been perfectly capable of solving a case now and again."

"And how he's handled the aftermath?"

He frowned. "Same as it ever was. Unfortunately."

"Means you were right to run," I said.

"Damn right it does."

Inga was expecting me, and Dad and I went back to a conference room, where I told everything, in detail, to Deputy Leo. I told the truth and nothing but, and pretty much the major part of "the whole truth" that I left out was Wallace and Logan's involvement. It took a while – Leo might still be fairly new, but he was pretty good at asking questions and getting things as clear as possible.

I did find out that they'd brought in Dr. London, a couple of members of the hospital board, Jay the bartender, and Weevil, which explained why he hadn't been in school, anyway.

"Did he leave or is he still here?" I asked.

"He was done early afternoon. Confirmed he hired you. Didn't talk much, but made sure to give you a lot of credit."

"But he left? No one tried to arrest him or anything?"

"If I could have arrested him for what he was thinking, he'd have been locked up for life. He was obviously pissed off and upset at Mr. Orozco's betrayal. Asked us to tell him why, if we ever found out."

"Any ideas there?" He looked at me suspiciously. "Hey, the case is over. I'm as curious as Weevil is."

"We don't know, and I don't think that's going to be a high priority," Leo said.

"Okay. Thanks."

It wasn't stressful, particularly. Just tedious. Dad and I got out just in time to be able to dash home and get ready for the meeting with Archie Boudreau, and our evening meal was a pair of burgers picked up from Burger King and gulped down in the car on the way home. We weren't assuming Lynn would have mass quantities of food; this was a business meeting, after all, even if the business was politics.

On the way, Dad said, "I very rarely tell _you_ this, but you can be completely honest here."

"Mr. Boudreau, that's an ugly tie."

"If he asks," Dad said. "And if it's actually ugly, sure."

We got there and found only a couple of cars in the driveway. At the very least, it wasn't a party today. The only people there were me, Dad, Lynn and Logan, Woody Goodman, and a good-looking guy with black hair, maybe an inch shorter than Logan, in his late thirties who spoke with a slight southern accent.

There were a couple of snacks set up, but no meal, so Dad and I had been right to gulp down the burgers on the way .

After talking with Dad and Woody for a few minutes – I talked with Logan and Lynn, who "wanted the dirt" about Thumper's arrest – I had no reason to hold back with Lynn, anyway – Dad came over and introduced me to Mr. Boudreau. "Ms. Mars?" he said.

"That would be me," I said. "By the way: That's not an ugly tie."

"Veronica," Dad said with a slight tone of reproach in his voice."

Boudreau simply said, "Good to know. Means I won't have to burn it when I get home."

"Have you actually done that?"

He laughed. "You'd be surprised. Some clients can be picky."

"Well, unless you show up wearing a Speedo or a suit of armor, you don't need to worry about insulting me or Dad with your fashion sense."

"How about a Speedo inside a suit of armor?" he asked.

Now I laughed, while Logan said, "Wouldn't that simply reduce to "suit of armor?"

"Good point," he said. "Anyway, Ms. Mars. I liked your idea about renting the billboard on top of the police station. We obviously couldn't use your wording, but I can work with that."

"So you're going to do it?" I asked.

"Sign goes up this coming Sunday," Boudreau said.

"Ha! Have someone near the station to get a picture of Don Lamb's face when he sees it."

"Is he the kind of person who'd throw a fit?" He seemed to be taking my joke seriously.

"He might," I said. "He might just cuss and storm off. "

"But there's always the possibility of something spectacular," Logan said. "Our Donnie has been responsible for some pretty spectacular flameouts."

"And we're going to bring them up in the TV commercial," Boudreau said.

"TV commercial?" I asked.

"Yeah. Lamb's people already have time booked on all the local stations, and the law says we get equal time."

"Guess who's the main sponsor of the "Lamb for Sheriff" campaign," Dad asked.

"The Mighty Kane Family," I said.

Dad frowned. "Duncan told you."

"He did. And he's under strict instructions not to 'embarrass' the family any further by showing up and fundraisers for Lamb's rival." I smiled. "He did tell his mother he wouldn't be officially backing Lamb, though, either."

"Pity," Boudreau said. "That would have been a real coup, getting him to publicly speak up for you, Keith. Ah well. Let's just keep going, then. The thing that got you removed from office in the recall election is off the table for them, so it can't be used against you, but it can't really be used for you, either. That doesn't mean we won't be using the fact that Lamb ultimately arrested the wrong person against him, though. We . . ."

The discussion went on for another hour or so, everyone contributing, and Boudreau seemed to take everything I said as seriously as everything Woody, Lynn, or Dad said. We left right at 8:30 PM, because, you know, school night, homework, and while I'd managed to sneak in a little reading for the science assignment in my car, I had some math problems and several chapters of Huckleberry Finn to plow through before I went to bed.

"So, what'd you think?" Dad asked.

"I think you have a chance," I said. "I don't want to get too optimistic, though, because that's when things usually go to hell."

"At least local TV and radio have to play it fair," Dad said. "This is something that all of the money in the world can't get past."

"Local TV likes you,"I said.

"They like me when I'm making a good story about catching a murderer," Dad said. "They don't like me when the wealthy people in town remind them who ultimately buys the local commercial airtime."

Probably true, that.

XXXXXXX

Sure enough, one of the local radio stations – KNCA All Talk All the Time – spent an entire show pushing Don Lamb and denigrating Dad, though not to the point of calling him the antichrist or anything. They couldn't do that, not with his solving the Lilly Kane murder, assisting in the apprehension of Trina Echolls, and proving that Jake Kane had paid off an innocent man to take the fall to protect his completely innocent son.

The host touted Don Lamb, man of the people, and mentioned his solution of the Felix Toombs murder.

To my astonishment – you know me, that glass is always half empty, and probably more than that if you measure, because the world sucks, and it very rarely sucks in our favor – a lot of the callers were backing Dad. Not all of them – there was one old woman who called herself Jess (who had to have been Jessamyn von Esterhaus, the octogenarian Aaron Echolls fan I'd met when trying to figure out who shot me) and at least one obvious '09er – but most of them thought things had been better under Dad, and were decidedly unimpressed by Lamb catching Thumper. "Too little, too damn late," one caller said.

Score one for Machiavelli.

Otherwise, the rest of the week was uneventful. Meg was kept fairly busy by schoolwork to do much more digging into what was going on with Peter and Marcos, though she did find out that Marcos had been shipped off to one of those "pray-away-the-gay" camps and as a consequence was acting uber manly around school – though he was still friends with Peter, which I would have thought his parents would have flat out forbidden. Either they were unusual homophobes in that they didn't give a crap who their kid hung around with as long as he didn't "turn into one," or, sadly more likely for Neptune, they just didn't pay attention unless something was staring them dead in the face.

Then came the Friday meeting of the Future Business Leaders of America. Big Dick Casablancas came in, apologized for his outburst on Monday, chalked it up to "stress," and proceeded to give a moderately interesting look into the world of high-stakes real estate. Moderately interesting if one actually was a future Business Leader of America, I mean. As I'm a Future Something Else of America, all that means is that I was able to stay awake during the presentation.

When class was over, he walked over to where Duncan, Logan and I were just getting up, and said, "Miss Mars. Could I talk to you, please?" He said it as though he were afraid of getting shot if he didn't.

Duncan spoke up first. "I don't think so, Mr. Casablancas," he said.

"What Duncan said," Logan said. "I'm fairly sure Veronica has no interest in anything you have to say, up to and including, 'Congratulations, Miss Mars, you've won the lottery'."

"But contributions to my father's campaign are always welcome." I said perkily.

The look on his face got even more sour. I wouldn't have thought it possible. "Miss Mars, I don't want to talk to you any more than you want to talk to me. And I'm not donating money to anyone in this damn Sheriff's campaign. The only reason I came back here is to give you a message."

"Is anyone else reminded of the old joke that ends, 'I don't know who he is, but the Pope's his driver'?" Logan wondered idly.

"And what would that message be?" I asked.

"My son wants to talk to you," he said.

Since Beaver was dead, I assumed he meant Dick.

You know, the one I have a permanent restraining order against.

This should be interesting.

Well, for a certain definition of "interesting," anyway.


	20. I Approve This Message

Author's note: I've been waiting to use the last line of this story since I started the fic.

And Meg IS going to get around to taking out her parents. As soon as she's done with her current assignment.

XXXXXXXXXX

"That should be interesting, considering he's not allowed within 100 feet of me for the rest of his life," I said. "Is he thinking we should meet at the football stadium and each be given a megaphone, or is he planning to use carrier pigeons?" 

"He's hoping you won't call the cops this once," he said.

"Miss Mars?" Mr. Pope said. "Is everything all right?"

"At the moment," I said, "But stay tuned."

"Okay," Mr. Pope said. "Let me know if there is."

"Look," Big Dick said, obviously wishing he were anywhere else, up to and including the floor of Challenger Deep without a submarine, "Dick said you can set it up when and wherever you want, bring as many people as you want, and so on. It's got nothing to do with what happened last year, he says, and he seems to think it's "pretty important." He wouldn't tell me. Here's the number you can call." He handed me a slip of paper. "Do it, don't do it, I don't really care, but if you do, he'd like you to do it fairly soon. He asked me to pass on the message, and now I have." He turned and walked out of the room without bothering to say goodbye.

"What was that about?" Duncan said.

"You heard as much as I did," I said.

"You're not going to call, are you?" Logan asked.

"Well, I have to admit I'm curious," I said. "Don't look at me like that."

"You're going to call," Logan said, not phrasing it as a question.

"Well, not without doing some research first . . ."

XXXXXXXXXX

I wasn't able to pull up any information on the phone number through a quick perusal of search engines, and since my punishment still extended to the end of the day I wasn't going to get any access to any PI software in the Mars Investigations office until tomorrow at the earliest.

So that meant coughing up some money to one Cindy "Mac" MacKenzie and asking her to track down the number – and also if there'd been any gossip about this on the Neptune High bulletin boards. She said she'd let me know.

At the end of the day, as I was walking out to the parking lot – after the first day, I was allowed to go back to driving myself to school, but I still had to come right home – Mac caught up with me.

"That was fast," I said.

"That was easy," she said. "So easy I almost feel guilty taking your $10 from you."

"In that case –"

"Did you not catch that 'almost,' Mars?"

I handed her the ten and she said, "It's a cell phone belonging to your least favorite fellow student."

"Gosh, I have so many least favorites, how could I possibly choose?"

"This one sent you on a trip," Mac said.

"Madison Sinclair."

"The very bitch."

"What's she doing serving as Dick Casablancas' answering service?" I asked.

Mac shrugged. "Beats me. But she was one of the few people to stand by the Casablancas brothers last year when the shit was hitting the fan."

"Maybe." Madison Sinclair have good points like loyalty? I really couldn't see it. Didn't mean it wasn't possible, just meant someone would have to prove it by me.

I didn't put Madison in the same category I put Celeste Kane, Don Lamb, Aaron Echolls, Beaver Casablancas or Clarence Weidman; she was an unlikeable, mean, unpleasant human being, who hated my guts, but she wasn't genuinely evil, she was just an asshole.

"Anything else?"

"If I had anything to give you on the bulletin board gossip, I'd have asked for the other $20," Mac said. "But I didn't have that much time. There was an actual technical issue I had to take care of."

"No rush," I said. "Dick may want me to get back in touch with him ASAP, but his urgency isn't my urgency."

"And no reason it should be."

I walked Backup when I got home, something I am always happy to do, and then I fed him and scratched him behind his ears.

Life is better with a dog like Backup, it really is. It's hard to be stressed out with a dog lying at your feet. (Unless you trip over him, but Backup always moves.)

I vegged out for a bit, watched some Law & Order reruns, and made dinner – tuna salad sandwiches and green beans.

Halfway through eating, after exchanging the usual pleasantries, I told Dad, "So, in the spirit of openness, Big Dick Casablancas talked to me today."

"Really?" Dad said. "About what?"

I took a deep breath. "His son wants to meet with me. In person."

"Since we're not in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, I assume he means the one we have a restraining order against."

"Yes, he did." And then I told Dad the entire story, omitting only Mac's contribution.

He looked at me carefully but was apparently satisfied that I wasn't leaving anything out, because he said, "Do you have any idea what this is about?"

"Not a clue," I said. "I have feelers out, but no one's gotten back to me yet. As far as I was concerned, Dick was out of my life entirely, and I was happy about it."

"Me too," he said. After another bite of tuna salad, he said, "So, what do you want from me?"

"First off, what do you think?"

"I have even less of a clue than you do," he said. "But if he's leaving the venue and people completely wide open to you, I don't think it's any kind of trap."

"I don't give Dick credit enough for being able to come up with any kind of trap beyond what he pulled at Pan High School," where he'd jumped out from behind a car and, in an uncharacteristically mean mood, knocked me to the pavement. "Anyway, I haven't heard anything about any 'plans for revenge', and you know Dick – if it's beyond a week or so away, it's beyond him. The man was never a master of long-term planning." Hell, I was willing to bet that the idea he'd gotten late last winter for kidnapping Logan and taking him off to Tijuana for a weekend of booze and strippers – to get him "over me," you understand, because attraction to me had to indicate a serious problem – had mostly been Beaver's.

Whom, you will note, I still refuse to call "Cassidy."

"So, again, what do you want from me?" The tone was curiosity, not challenge.

"I want you to be there."

His eyebrows raised. "Really?"

"Really. He said I could bring anyone I wanted. So I want you. Not just you, of course, but you, definitely, because he'd never expect me to bring you, and it might throw him off."

"You realize it sounds like you've decided you're going, right?" Dad asked.

"It does. Because I have. If nothing else, I want to know why he wants to meet with me, and what makes him think I'd want to meet with him."

"You do," Dad said.

"I'm willing to meet with him. I'm also willing to tell him to jump off a cliff if he doesn't come up with a damn good reason pretty much immediately after we show up."

"I'll be there, sweetie," Dad said.

"Thank you."

XXXXXXXX

That night, I was talking with Mac online – just idle chitchat, for the most part; she was taking the night off, and I didn't blame her – when Wallace called. He sounded, somehow, like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world and the most confusing question ever at the same time.

"You need to see this," he said.

"What?"

"Jackie just showed it to me on her phone. Say hi to Veronica, Jackie."

A voice came through the phone, "Hi." Didn't sound very enthusiastic, but I suppose if my date interrupted our date to call another woman, even one as firmly "friend" as I was, I suppose I wouldn't be, either -

"Hi," I said back.

Wallace again:"Anyway, she saw this video online and after I saw it I knew I had to send it to you and your Dad."

"Me – and Dad?" That let out it being a cute kitten video, not that Wallace was a big fan of cute kitten videos in the first place.

"Yeah. You'll see. I'm sending you the link now."

"Copy it to Mac," I said.

"Roger that."

An email alert popped up; I clicked on the link Wallace sent me –

Holy crap. I got Wallace's feeling. Half of me wanted to laugh hysterically, half of me wanted to cuss until I ran out of words. "Thanks."

"Thank Jackie. She saw it."

"Thanks, Jackie."

"You're welcome."

"Now. I'll let Wallace go so the two of you and get back to your date."

"Thanks."

Mac was messaging me back within seconds. "Want me to trash that? No charge."

I sighed and typed back, "No. Too many people have seen it already."

It took me a while to recover, but after I finally got my mouth working, I went out to the living room and said, "Dad? You just picked up – well, something. You have to see this."

Dad came back in my room and sat down. I played the video.

It opened up (and stayed) on a scene of a young woman sitting at a desk.

"Hi!" she said cheerfully. "I'm here to talk about the Neptune Sheriff's election coming up in about a month. Now, I bet you think you know who I'm going to endorse, and you're wrong. I'm endorsing Keith Mars. Why? No hard feelings, of course. He's good at what he does. Now, he and I might have our little disagreements, but that doesn't mean I'm not sure he's a whole lot better for Neptune than Don Lamb is. So vote for Keith Mars."

Then she smiled. "I'm Trina Echolls, and I approve this message."


	21. Like Father, Like Daughter

"I think I'm going to be sick," Dad said.

"Make room at the toilet bowl."

Shaking his head sadly, Dad said, "Trina Echolls endorsing me. We've taken a left turn into wackyland."

"Now all you need is a testimonial from Jake Kane," I said.

"I'm almost wondering if Lamb set this up," Dad said.

"Donnie? He wouldn't have the imagination."

"True. And now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to make about a dozen phone calls."

Dad left the room, while I called Mac. "MacKenzie Tracking Services," she said. "What do you need, Veronica?"

"Trina Echolls' head in a bag, with her body somewhere else."

"That, I can't do. But I sympathize, believe me."

"Failing that, how about tracking down where the video came from? Bonus if you make it your top priority."

"What are you thinking?" Mac asked.

"I'm wondering if anyone else might have been behind it. Anyone at all."

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

I said, "Don Lamb. Celeste Kane. Anyone who might want to screw with Dad's chances of being Sheriff again." Of course, the thing is, it was very much possible that this was just Trina, doing it on her own, for the sake of her sense of drama. Or, hell, it was even possible she actually WAS endorsing my father, because she's just that batshit out of her tree. "Or it could be Trina being Trina. I just want to be sure."

"Will do," she said.

"Also, could you keep your eye on the pulse of things? See how people are reacting? I can check the mainstream reaction myself, but -"

"Behind the scenes. Got it. And don't worry about the bonus payment here."

I knew Mac well enough to say "Regular payment will be fine?"

"Naaah," Mac said, surprising me. "This one's on me. I'm as curious as you are."

"Thanks." I'd probably toss her some cash anyway. Mac and I said our goodbyes, and hung up.

Then, while I could fairly clearly Dad talking animatedly in the living room – to Archie Boudreau, mostly – I called Logan.

"Ah, Machiavelli," he said with a mild tone of lasciviousness. "Figured out a way to sneak out? I'd recommend against it; nothing good happens to people who break out their last night in the clink." He was in far too good a mood, which means that he hadn't seen Trina's "campaign ad."

"What are you up to?"

"Poker match," he said. "Me, Duncan, Gia Goodman, a couple of other people."

"Gia Goodman?" I asked despite the situation.

"The woman's a shark," he said. "So far she's the big winner on the night." Then, to someone at the table. "Deal me out!"

"Anyway, I assume you've been incommunicado."

"None of us would know if Rio de Janeiro had just sunk into the Atlantic Ocean." After a second, "It didn't, did it?"

"Your secret desire to rule Carnival is safe for the moment," I said.

"Secret?" Logan muttered.

"Anyway," I took a deep breath, "Your sister is up to no good."

"What did she do?" Every bit of humor left his voice immediately. I can't blame him.

"She made a campaign ad. Endorsing my father."

"Tell me you're kidding."

"When it comes to Trina? I never kid. Never." Like father, like daughter. I didn't think Trina was evil in the same sense her father was, but I do think she was every bit as crazy. Trina had shot me, shot at Lynn, and kidnapped Lynn – all for the sake of her wildly overdeveloped sense of drama. "All the world's a stage." For Trina, that was the way she saw things.

"Send me the link."

"Sending . . . "

"Got it." I heard Trina's non-mellifluous tones start up in the background and I held my ear away from the phone. Twice was enough.

Mistiming it slightly, I started listening again just in time to hear Trina's unbearably smug "And I approve this message."

Which was immediately followed by Logan literally growling in rage. You know Logan? Growling in rage is so very much not his thing. When he began cussing, I heard Duncan saying, "Whoa. Hold on –"

And then silence.

About ten seconds later, Duncan called me. "What was that about? Logan just threw his phone across the room, then stormed off."

"Trina's decided to endorse my father in the Sheriff's race."

"What the hell?"

"Yeah."

A few seconds of silence, and then "Oh my god!" I heard Gia say in the background. "Oh my god, people, you have to look at this, it's the strangest and funniest thing I've ever seen and if I was Veronica I don't think I'd want to show my face for awhile, not that it's her fault or anything but still!"

"Well," Duncan said, "If it wasn't all over the school before this, it is now."

"It would have been anyway," I said. "Anyway, make sure he doesn't do something stupid, okay?"

"Sure," Duncan said. "Assuming I can catch up to him."

Not five seconds after I put the phone down, it rang again.

Of all people, it was Weevil.

That lent just that touch of surreality the day had otherwise been so desperately lacking.

Sounding a bit depressed, he said, "Yo. V. I suppose you've been wondering where I've been these last few days."

Weevil had sort of not been school any day this week – excused, technically, because someone apparently called in for him, but if he'd been physically sick, I was a movie star. I'd noticed he wasn't there and had even tried to call him a couple of times, but I hadn't gotten an answer. And any PCH'ers I saw went in the other direction. 

Still, the events of the day had kind of driven him from my thoughts, until now, anyway. I wasn't going to tell him that, and I wasn't going to joke around, either. "Yeah. I have. You okay?"

"You kidding? Thumper stabbed Felix and I didn't get the chance to do something about it. Still doesn't mean I don't owe you, though."

"Don't worry about that," I said. "Your word's good."

"Thanks. Anyway, I wanted to let you know I was okay. Needed a couple of days to cleat my head. Doesn't look like he's getting out, either, so I've got to hope Lamb's got the goods."

"I think he does," I said. "I had to give a report myself. Doesn't mean he's not being a dick about it, but I don't think he's going to blow this." It was up to the DA at this point, anyway, but I was fairly sure Lamb hadn't violated any rules of evidence or anything, and Thumper'd lawyered up the second he got done cussing me out, I'd heard.

"Still hard to trust the man."

"True, that," I said.

"Still haven't figured out why Thumper did it, and if any of the boys know, they ain't talking."

"Damn. I hope none of them do know."

"Me too. This I'm going to try to figure out on my own, though. Thumper wasn't a pure psycho; he ain't the type to do this for shits and giggles. And if he wanted to go after me, he would've waited and tried to slice me up instead."

"Well, wasn't he pushing for you to go after the Red Diamonds and getting a lot of support? Maybe he figured he'd kill Felix, turn everyone else against you, and take over yourself?"

"Maybe," he said. "I can use that. Thanks, V."

"What are friends for? And if you need to bounce something me, I'm always available – but I've got a lot else on my plate right now."

"Yeah. I saw that shit Trina Echolls pulled. You want me to do anything about it?"

"No. Thank you," I said, because I knew he would if I asked.

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up and headed out to the living room. "Archie had nothing to do with it," Dad said.

"I believe the right word here is 'duh.' The man didn't seem like a complete moron."

"He doesn't think Lamb had anything to do with it, either. Something like this, he says, would blow up in his face if it was found out."

"I actually asked Mac to trace the video, see if she could figure out who's responsible for it," I said.

"Archie's doing something similar, though he's probably going at it from a different angle from Mac."

"So what do we do at the moment?"

"Nothing," Dad said. "We wait to see what the public reaction is, and we go from there."

"I don't think so," I said. "Remember my press conference after Trina was arrested? Trina likes to control the story. Sitting around and waiting is letting her control it."

"What's the story?" Dad asked.

"Morning glory?"

With mild annoyance, Dad said, "You know Trina better than I do. I trust you when it comes to judging her character. What's the story she's telling here? What's her place in the narrative? What does she think the plot is?"

"Her place in the story? Heroine. She's always the hero of her story. Well, she and Aaron." I know that, to an extent, we're all the heroes in our own stories; Don Lamb probably had some kind of internal narrative that made him out to be the good guy.

Trina took it to a whole other level, though. Really. I'm willing to admit that I might have been wrong. Trina? Never wrong. Never, ever wrong.

"Okay. Fair enough. And the plot?"

And now, I was stumped. The only thing I knew is that the end of her story had the "good guys" winning, her father's reputation restored, and her riding off triumphantly into the sunset. And the collateral damage to me, to Lynn?

Well, that was nothing personal, don't you know.

"Okay, I get it," I said. "I still think the best way to react to Trina is not to sit around and wait, though. She tends to get flustered when people don't react the way she thinks they should."

"Give Archie and Mac a day," Dad said. "Then we'll see about doing things your way."

"Fair enough," I said, and went back to my room.

Dad was right that I didn't know the plot.

But I knew a way to find out.

I did a quick search online – I didn't need Mac for this – and found what I was looking for. I was surprised she had it online –

No I wasn't. Trina? Loved attention.

So I was going to give her what she loved.

I picked up the phone and called. Trina answered on the third ring.

"Veronica. Hi."


	22. I Will Always Be Telling This Story

_I was made to be telling this story_

_I was born to be telling this story_

_I am going to be telling this story_

_I could only be telling this story_

_I will always be telling this story_

_The Story,_ Shawn Colvin

XXXXXXXXXX

I know what you're thinking: Is Veronica Mars completely insane?

That's entirely possible. On the other hand, the best way to figure what Trina Echolls is up to? Ask Trina Echolls.

"Are you all recovered?"

"You mean from when you shot me? Yes, yes I am. Thanks ever so much for asking." If you want to get what the tone of my voice is, think coldly perky.

Trina, of course, either didn't get my tone or didn't give a crap. "I'm glad to hear that. Really, I am. I like you." Then I'd hate to see what you do to people you don't like, lady. "But I really don't imagine you called me just to chat."

"No, I didn't. I just saw something online."

"Oh!" She said, sounding almost excited. "My endorsement of your Dad. What did you think?"

A brief digression here about Aaron Echolls. Aaron Echolls was a competent action-movie actor. He tried drama, he tried comedy, he wasn't very good at it. But he made money at action. Still, people weren't exactly beating down his door to play Hamlet, or opposite Meryl Streep.

Trina Echolls doesn't have one tenth the acting ability her father does. There's a reason that, even with a bankable guy like Aaron Echolls as her father, the best jobs she was able to get were as one-line hookers on _SVU_ and corpses on _CSI_. The biggest part she ever got was in one of his last movies, and I hear he basically had to threaten to walk off the set to even get her the dozen lines that she had.

So that meant she couldn't be a good enough actress to be faking the emotion she seemed to be showing: Eagerness.

_She genuinely wanted to hear my opinion_.

I think it was right then I realized this wasn't part of any conspiracy – at least, not one that didn't have God himself in on the whole thing (which, given the life of the Mars family, would not surprise me in the least).

None of which meant she didn't have some kind of ulterior motive, of course. Trina's way of looking at the world might have been skewed beyond words, but she wasn't prone to doing things like this just to amuse herself.

"I assume you're not asking me for a critique of the production values," I said.

"Like you'd know anything about those," she said. "No. I just wanted to know what you thought of the message."

"You mean, the part where you endorse my father, who was partly responsible for catching you and stopping your crime spree—" Note: I used that phrase intentionally –"for Sheriff? That part?" Okay, a little sarcasm had crept into my cold sarcasm here. I really don't think anyone can blame me here.

"That's the part! Only that's an alleged crime spree. Never can tell who might be recording this!"

Hardly alleged, of course. "Well, Trina, I have to say: I'm confused. Why are you endorsing my father? Why are you getting involved in this at all?" What the hell are you thinking, you brain-dead drama queen? That was what I wanted to say.

"Can't it be because I think your Dad's actually better than Don Lamb?" She asked. "I mean, think about it, Veronica: Lamb thought it was little Dick Casablancas! Like he'd be capable of coming up with a plan like – like the one I allegedly came up with."

"I figured out it was you," I said. "And you know who caught you." Just to remind everyone: Trina was holding me, Logan and Lynn hostage at a hunting cabin on the outskirts of Neptune when she was taken down by a flying tackle by one Cindy "Mac" MacKenzie.

"Oh, I was caught anyway by that point," Trina said. "That didn't really change much." Either lying or delusional, that was our Trina. She hated the fact that Mac was the one who'd stopped her. "And you being the once and future sheriff's daughter, it all makes a lot more sense, you know, while Don Lamb stood around with his thumb up his butt loudly telling everyone how wonderful he was."

I thought I got it now. I really did. I didn't see how this would help Trina's quest to restore her father's name, but I at least thought I got her motives. "Okay, Trina. I think we're done."

"Well, not yet," she said. "There's still a trial and everything, and who knows what'll come out then? Have a good night."

I didn't bother saying goodbye to her; I just hung up.

I looked up and saw Dad watching me from my doorway. "What were you just doing?"

"Going to the source."

"That's what I thought." Usually I can tell when Dad's disappointed, angry, or upset, but I couldn't read him at all at the moment.

"Talking to her on the phone doesn't qualify as dangerous," I said.

"I didn't say anything," he said. "Leave it to you to cut through the Gordian Knot."

"I figured, it actually couldn't hurt."

"What if she was recording the call?" Dad asked

"Hey, I did the same thing."

"Let me hear it." He listened, then said, "Doesn't sound like either of you said anything incriminating."

"Keith Mars raised no fools," I said. "Plus, I figured out her story. Every hero needs a good nemesis. I'm hers. And it's a better story, for her, if I'm the daughter of the well-respected Sheriff than if I'm the child of a private investigator. Makes her triumph in the end over greater odds, or maybe it means she was operating against forces so powerful she was lucky to escape with her life. I don't know exactly how she thinks, and I don't want to know." I shuddered.

Dad came over and hugged me. "I'm amazed you were able to hold yourself back from yelling at her. I know you wanted to."

"I'm a better actress than she is."

XXXXXXX

I held off from doing anything else work-related the rest of the night and went out to the living room to watch a Law & Order marathon with my father. Dad delighted in poking holes in the law enforcement mistakes, but we both really liked Jerry Orbach.

The next morning, Dad actually worked his real job: Heading north to pick up a bail-jumper who'd been spotted in a small town an hour or so away. He gave me strict instructions not to do anything else having to do with Trina – I wasn't, anyway – and not to meet up with little Dick until he got back, and took off.

So that left me with some free time.

Some free time, and a boyfriend I hadn't gotten to spend a lot of time with recently.

The gods must have been watching out for him, because as fast as Logan got over here he must have broken some kind of speed law. Possibly that "of light."

I think we said "hello" before we went on do other things. The next couple of hours were fun. And you're not getting any of the details. Pervert.

XXXXXXX

We were done before lunch – we could have kept going, you understand, but we didn't want to take the chance of being caught en flagrante delicto by Dad, who was perfectly capable of rounding up a bailjumper in thirty minutes or less and being back by noon, counting the paperwork. Likely not, but I've learned not to place bets on my Dad's incompetence.

"So," I said, finally, when we were fully clothed. "Feeling better?"

"Much," he said. "And to think I wasted those years in therapy."

"Speaking of therapy –"

"You're going to kill the mood, aren't you?"

I said, "We kind of have to."

"We really don't." Logan's voice was approaching a "drop that" tone.

"We don't have to take long. Look, I know this isn't your favorite subject. It's not mine, either, not by a long shot. But your sister's once again trying to force her way into things."

"And the best way to deal with it is how you deal with any attention hound: Ignore her. She'll go away."

"Yes, because that worked so swimmingly last time," I said. "Besides, it's too late. I called her last night."

"You. Did. What?"

"Did I need your permission?" I asked.

"Not where I was going!" he said, with a voice somewhere between "raised" and yelling. "I as more wondering why the hell you'd want any contact with her."

I laughed humorlessly. "You think it was easy? The woman shot me, Logan. She might not have been trying to kill me but I'm pretty sure my death would have fit her storyline, too. But if I wanted to find out what the hell she was doing, no amount of being Machiavelli would have helped. She's the only one who understands what's going through her head."

"I haven't talked to her since," Logan said. "Mother did once, before hanging up and directing the servants to tell her that all future calls needed to go through the family lawyer. And now she does this? It's like she's trying to take over for Daddy Dearest in making the lives around them a living hell."

"At one point, I think I thought of Trina as terminally clueless, but not malicious. I don't think she's trying to ruin the lives of everyone around her." I took a deep breath. "I just don't think she _cares_. She has a story, and she's sticking to it."

"And God help those who get in the way of her plotline."

"God hasn't done jack so far," I said. "If her story's going to have the ending we want it to have, we're going to have to write it ourselves."


	23. Guests

The rest of Logan's and my day was spent in companionable things, rather than exciting exercise. We went out, got lunch at a sandwich shop, and wandered along the beach. After our discussion, neither one of us wanted to spend a whole hell of a lot of time thinking about Trina and her story.

Besides, I didn't really want to fight – any more than we already had, at any rate - and I could tell that a long discussion would leave Logan in the kind of mood where he wants to get drunk and trash things. Duncan had partly held him back last night – he'd gotten drunk, but Duncan had stopped him from breaking things or calling Trina while less than sober and cussing her out.

He could be a good man, that Duncan Kane. There was a reason I'd dated him, and it wasn't because of his boyish good looks. I'd have to thank him.

We did discuss Dick. I invited him to be part of my posse, and he said he'd think about it. Since he was being genuine there and not blowing me off, I let it go.

Where to meet Dick? Since he was leaving the venue wide open, I almost said my place, but I didn't want the place contaminated with the stench of Casablancas. School was out; Dick still wasn't allowed on the property. Whatever else you might want to say about Vice Principal Clemmons, he stuck by his word.

"How about we meet at my place?" Logan said. "Big enough, certainly home field enough for you to feel comfortable. Plus, we can shove him in the pool if he gets rowdy, and there'll be plenty of people there in case there's an actual issue."

"I wouldn't want to ask your servants to put themselves in the line of fire," I said.

"Nor would they put themselves there," Logan said. "But those who remember Dick, suffice it to say, do not do so with fondness. They'd be delighted to frog-march him to the front of the estate and throw him out, bodily."

"Sounds good. Will your mom mind?"

"She's filming a guest appearance on Law and order for the next couple of days," he said.

"And my Dad's part of this and will want to know that you're not doing this behind Lynn's back."

"He's not my father," Logan said.

I snorted. "Try that on him. See how well it works."

"I prefer to have my limbs remain attached to my body, thanks. Mother will have no problems, but if you believe your father will be concerned –"

"How long have you known Keith Mars?' I asked.

"Then I'll call her tonight and double-check. Happy?"

"Delighted."

XXXXXXXXX

Dad caught the bail jumper. (Like you had any doubt.) That night, over a nice steak dinner, we decided that, pending Logan's approval, we'd meet Monday after school in the Echolls' backyard.

True to Archie Boudreau's word, the pro-Keith Mars billboard went up the next morning, directly on top of the police station. Lamb's reaction? Everything we could have hoped for. According to Inga (I asked her later and she was happy to pass on the gossip), the first thing he did was order Sacks and one of the other deputies to go up on the roof and cover it up.

Sacks may be somewhat on the sleazy side, but the man's not actually an idiot, and he knew he and the other guy would get in a lot of trouble if he did what Donnie asked, so he flat out turned Lamb down. None of the others would do it either – even Inga, who told him she was way too old to go scrambling around on rooftops. (I happen to know the woman runs marathons, but Lamb, being Lamb, bought it.)

So he went up himself and started hanging bedsheets over it – until one of the deputies came up an hour or so later and told him it was someone from the billboard company on the phone and if he didn't stop covering up their billboard they'd call the cops.

"I am the cops," he apparently said.

"The state police," the woman from the billboard company said, "And then there'll be a nice fat lawsuit. Right in time for the election. Sound good to you?"

Grumpily. Lamb went back to the roof and took down the bedsheets.

And I haven't told you the best part:

Archie Boudreau, having listened to me and Logan when we said that there was a chance Lamb would do something unwise in response to the billboard, was filming the whole thing.

So Trina's "endorsement"? Not the most popular thing online as of Monday morning. Not by a long shot.

Lamb also called Dad demanding that he have the billboard taken down, and all Dad did was say, "Gee, Don, I didn't pay for it," which, seeing as it was paid for by the campaign fund, was technically accurate and completely unhelpful, which is the way all interactions with Lamb should go, ideally.

Dad was meeting me after school that day at the Echolls estate; Dick was to show up 45 minutes or so after school ended, to give us time to get there and set up. (Lynn had approved. I hadn't doubted that she would.)

The local talk shows had been dominated by discussions of Trina's endorsement – none of them went so far as to call her up and talk to her, she was generally believed to be a kidnapper and attempted murder not much better than her father, after all – until the billboard went up, and then the locals pushed hard the "this was a dirty trick" angle, which they were still sticking with as of Monday morning, even if even they couldn't exactly justify Lamb going up to the roof and trying to take it down personally.

That was the public face. Privately, while people were laughing, puzzled, and confused at Trina, very few people were actually taking her seriously – Dad's poll numbers took a hit, but one within the famed "margin or error is plus or minus four percent).

Lamb, on the other hand, had looked like an idiot even to his most fanatical backer, and his numbers dropped by twice Dad's. He'd blown any minor advantage he might have gotten from arresting Thumper.

That day, in the Future Business Leaders club, Mr. Pope challenged us to come up with a portfolio that was going to beat his – his was real, of course, while ours was fictional (though about half the students in the club no doubt could have gotten their parents to actually go into the stock market, not from the thought that their kids knew what they were doing so much as the knowledge that they could comfortably afford to blow a few grand here and there.

Wish I knew what that was like. (I don't have a problem with money, you understand, so much as I'm convinced that a lot of the people who seem to have a lot of it are idiots.)

The day was otherwise unexceptional – I saw Weevil back in school again and said hi, and made sure he was okay; he said that of course he wasn't, but that he'd live through it.

The big surprise came when I realized that not only was Logan following me, so were Meg and Duncan. When we parked and got out of the cars, Logan told Duncan, "Dude, this is a private party."

Meg answered. "I was invited, too."

"No one told me," I said.

"I didn't know myself till late in the day, when Madison came up and told me that there was a meeting tonight at Logan's between Dick Casablancas and Veronica and that my presence was, like, requested."

"How did you stand being within ten feet of the woman?" Logan asked.

"She's not nice," Meg said, "She's hardly evil incarnate. Anyway, I was able to track down Duncan and make excuses to my parents but I wasn't able to catch you until right now. Sorry about that, Ronniekins."

I said, "That's okay, Maxie. I just wonder why he wants you here."

"Witnesses?" Duncan offered.

"It's hardly like the two of you are going to be biased in his favor," I said.

"Unless someone hid the trunk of your car," I said, jokingly.

"Then the joke's on them," Duncan said. "My car doesn't have a trunk."

"That kills that."

Dad popped his head out the front door. "You folks coming back or – oh. Hello, Meg. Duncan."

"Dick apparently wanted them here too," I said.

"Okay . . ."

We all went back to the backyard. At 45 minutes after school on the dot Paolo, the Echolls' butler, came out and said, "Mr. Echolls? Your guests are here." He said the word guest as though he meant drug dealer instead.

Wait, _guests?_

"Guests?" Dad asked.

"My place. I've got this,: Logan said. "Duncan?"

"I got your six, man," Duncan said.

When they left, I said to Meg, "That boy is watching entirely too many military movies."

Dad said, "Humor me. Step back from the door."

I knew the tone in Dad's voice; it wasn't one you joked with. Meg and I both moved forty feet back, till we were well behind him.

A few minutes later Duncan and Logan came in, leading Dick Casablancas . . .

who was followed in turn by Peter Ferrer and Marcos Oliveres.

The two kids, in case you'd forgotten, Meg was investigating at Ms. Stafford's behest.

What the hell?


	24. What Happened? v 2

I made a significant blunder in the first iteration of this chapter – significant enough that it needs to be rewritten, and upcoming chapters replotted. I'll explain what it is at the end.

XXXXXXXXX

It sounded good internally, so I said it out loud. "What the hell?"

"Ronnie," Dick said. "Meg. Mr. Mars."

"Richard," Dad said. "Who are your friends?"

"That's Pete and that's Marcos," Dick said. "They used to play with Cassidy in Little League. When they heard that Ronnie and Meg over there were looking into them they came right to me."

"-because they wanted to go surfing?" I asked.

"No, because they thought Cassidy might've talked to me about something. Dude didn't, but I wish he would have."

"That sounded almost serious, Dickie boy," Logan said.

"You have no fucking idea. Really." Dick really did sound uncommonly serious, but for him that only meant he sounded like a bit less of a jackass.

Peter and Marcos were still hovering in the background.

"Okay," Dad said. "This sounds complicated. Why don't we all sit down."

"And how about something to drink?" Dick said as he plopped down on a nearby bench.

"An excellent idea," Logan said. "Paolo."

"Yes, Mr. Echolls?"

"Please bring everyone here except Mr. Casablancas the drink of their choice. Please bring him a Diet Dr. Pepper."

"Dude, I hate Diet Dr. Pepper."

"Dude," Logan said, "You're lucky you're here at all. You'll take what I give you. And consider yourself fortunate I don't have any ready supplies of rat poison."

Dick stood up. "Yeah. I knew this was a bad idea."

Marcos said, "Dick. Please."

And then Dad said, "So, Meg, Veronica: Why were you looking into our two guests over there?" He gestured towards Peter and Marcos.

I said, "Well, it started back on the field trip we took to Sharks Stadium . . ." and went up to the point I asked Meg to look into it, which I glossed over. I wasn't so much worried about Dad noticing – I just assumed he would, at this point – as I was Peter, Marcos, or particularly Dick noticing. Paolo came out with the drinks when we were halfway through.

Meg then took over and detailed her investigation, leaving out nothing (except why she was the one looking into it; smart girl, that Meg), and ending up with the holding pattern she'd been in for the last week or so.

Marcos seemed stunned. "You were looking into this because Ms. Stafford thought we were acting funny?"

Since she'd apparently been right, I could hardly fault the woman's instincts. "Yup," I said. "And if it's enough for you to get little Dick Casablancas, of all people –"

"Hey, they didn't just pick me out of thin air. They had a reason."

I ignored him, " You picked Dick here to serve as your go-between, then it's not like she was wrong to think something was up, now was she?"

"I guess not," Peter said. "Look. This stays here, okay?"

Elbowing him, Marcos said, "You sure, man?"

"We're gonna tell everyone in a couple of days. Think of this as a trial run. And I don't think any of these guys are gonna make fun of us."

"But that guy's running for Sheriff . . . "

Dad said, "Are you boys going to confess to a crime?" They both said no. "Are you going to say that you're planning to commit one?" Again they both said no. "Then don't worry about it. Whatever you have to say, stays between us. Right?"

Everyone agreed.

"Okay," Peter said. "This is hard. But the reason we were uncomfortable? The reason we got kicked out of baseball freshman year? All comes back to Little League." He took a deep breath.

I'm embarrassed to say I still didn't get it, yet. Dad had it figured out. So had Meg, if the look on her face was any indication. Duncan and Logan were still as confused as I was.

Dick was alternating between looking smug, and appearing to realizing that maybe didn't want to look smug. Note that despite my troubles with young Mr. Casablancas I don't think he's a psychopath or anything remotely like that, I just think he's a shallow jerk. So (from the perspective of knowing what was about to be revealed) I don't think he was being callous, I just think he was torn between actual concern and the idea that he was about to be able to rub something in my face.

I didn't know what it was, but Dad didn't get that look on his face for trivial reasons, so I knew something was up.

My boyfriend? Not so perceptive. "Okay," Logan said. "It obviously wasn't steroids . . ."

"Logan," Dad said tightly. "This probably isn't the time to be funny."

The tone in Dad's voice made Logan realize he'd stepped over the line, so even though he didn't realize there'd been a line in the first place, he said, "Okay. Sorry."

"Boys," Dad said, "What happened?"

"Exactly what you think happened," Marcos said.

"I must be dense," Duncan said, "But I don't know what you think happened, Mr. Mars." Meg leaned over and whispered something to him. "He did what?"

Now I got it.

Son of a bitch. And that's both an exclamation and a description of Woody Goodman.

Because our next "Mayor"? The guy who'd backed Dad for Sheriff?

Unless Peter and Marcos were lying, and unless I had no ability to read people whatsoever I seriously doubted they were, they were saying that he'd molested them.

And –

I looked at Dick. "That's why they came to you."

"Dude never touched me," Dick said, seriously.

"But you think he touched your brother."

And finally Logan got it. "Touched – raped?"

Peter and Marcos winced, and Marcos said, "I knew this was a bad idea" and began backing towards the door.

Meg said, "If you're going to come out and say this publicly, people are going to be saying the word anyway. It's nothing for you to be ashamed of. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But –"

"Nothing," Peter said firmly. "We did nothing wrong."

Dad looked at Dick. "This happened to your brother?" he said angrily.

"Hey, I didn't know, Mr. Mars. I didn't, honest. I knew Cassidy was messed up when it came to things like that but I didn't know that was why."

"I'm not messed up," Peter said. "I was going to be gay anyway."

"Dude, your life, your call, I don't give a shit," Dick said. "But that kind of thing has to mess you up, right?" This time, I was fairly sure Dick hadn't been insulting, not even unintentionally.

"Right," Marcos said. "That's why it took us so long." He took a deep breath. "Sorry if this screws up your campaign, Mr. Mars."

Dad blinked for a second, like he hadn't even thought of that. Hell, he probably hadn't; I certainly hadn't. though it was a hell of a question, but one that would have to be dealt with later. "Right now, I don't care about that. If he did what you're accusing him of, then damn my election."

Peter said, "We still didn't want to screw it up. That's why we were going to wait till after the election – till we found out Meg was asking questions about our pasts, 'cause you asked her to, Veronica, and we thought we needed to – what's the phrase?"

"Get out in front of the problem." Marcos said.

"Right," Peter said. "Because this is our story and we should be the ones who get it out there. Not you, not Meg, and not the Neptune Navigator. And that's when we went to Dick – because of what happened to Cassidy. We figured if anyone would take us seriously, it would be him." Which shows how desperate they were, I thought but didn't' say. Still, give little Dick a tiny amount of credit: He had taken them seriously.

"I'm sorry we threw off your schedule," I said, "But the election's nearly a month away, and I'm pretty sure no one here's going to ask you to sit on it that long."

"They can't do it at all," Dad said. "I get why you want to, but we can't hold off."

"What?" Peter and Marcos said.

Dad sighed. "Woody Goodman's coaching a team this year."

"Teenagers," Peter said. "They're too old for him."

Damn. Dad was right. Of course he was. We'd all been thinking about how this would affect Peter and Marcos –

But what about his other victims? I've studied enough criminal behavior to know for damn sure that Woody Goodman didn't decided 6-7 years back to suddenly molest three boys and then say, "Well, that was fun, but now I think I'll try miniature golf."

Even if there was no way to save anyone Goodman might have gone after in the past, we were kind of obliged to try to stop him from having one more day, one more chance at another kid.

Dad asked, "How sure are you? Sure enough?"

"I'm not ready," Marcos said.

Peter said, "We have to be. He's right. Dammit."

"First thing you need is a lawyer," Dad said.

"Cliff'll do it," I said.

"Cliff McCormack might be good at getting whores free," Dick said, "But going after Woody Goodman's kind of out of his league, don't you think? No, I'll call my guy – the one who helped me when everyone thought I'd shot you, Ronnie."

"Isn't he a criminal attorney?" Dad asked.

"Yeah, but he might know someone." He flipped open his phone and started dialing.

"Cliff's available now," I said. "He can get you through the early parts, at least."

"He's also got guts," Duncan said, unexpectedly. "I've seen him tell my Dad to go to hell – while CW was standing right next to him." That did take guts. Clarence Weidman was the scariest person in town. "I think you'd need someone with guts."

"I don't have to say anything," Marcos said. "I could just go home."

"No." Peter said after a bit. "We agreed: We do this together. We make the man pay for what he did to you, and me, and Cassidy."

Dick said, "I got him."

"That fast?" Meg asked.

"He and I surf together. Dude knows how to ride the waves. He said he can be down here in a couple of hours if you want to go through with this, but he needs to know now."

"Your call," Peter said to Marcos.

Marcos took a deep breath and said, "Let's go for it."

Dick said into the phone, "Larry? Come on down. They're going for it." He hung up and said, "He'll meet you at the Sheriff's office in about two hours."

"Okay," Dad said. "Right now, what we're going to do is get you over to Cliff McCormack's office. We'll let him take it from there."

"You're not going to stay with us?"

"Right now, our dear Sheriff hates Keith Mars' guts," Logan said. "You're better off not having him anywhere near you when you bring the charges."

"Pretty much, yeah," Dad said.

"Same holds for me," I said.

"And my mother is one of the biggest backers of "Keith Mars for Sheriff," Logan said.

"I'll be there," Meg said firmly. "If you want."

Duncan whispered into her ear, and Meg said, "Screw them."

"Okay. Then I'm with you, too," Duncan said.

"Okay," Peter said. "Thanks."

"And if you need help," Dad said, "We're a phone call away."

"I'll stick around as long as it takes to make sure Larry finds you," Dick said. "Just as soon as I get something from Ronnie, here."

I asked, "And what would that be, Dick?"

"I think you've got something to say to me."

"I'd like to say it's been a pleasure, but I'd be lying?"

"No," Dick said. "Well, Cassidy probably wouldn't have been like who he was if this hadn't happened. So if he were here I'd say you owed him an apology. Since he's not, I think you should give me the apology. You know, on his behalf."

I've said it before, I'll say it again:

What the hell?

XXXXXXXXXXX

The blunder?

Veronica and the other teenagers might think about this situation for how it affects Peter and Marcos.

Keith Mars is a former law enforcement officer. He'd be thinking about other potential victims. And Woody Goodman was shown in season 2 to be coaching a current team. And that's the kind of thing he couldn't let sit for one more minute.


	25. Rooting for a Tie

Author's note: I made a significant alteration in the previous part. You might want to go back and reread it.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm sorry," I said. "Has hell frozen over?"

"Um -" Dick said."

"Because that's the only way I'm saying I'm sorry to you, whether you're taking it on Cassidy's behalf or asking for it for yourself."

"I wouldn't ask for me, Ronnie; shit, you got a right to be pissed at me. But Cassidy never had a chance; he was screwed up from the start. Wish I'd noticed."

Two things: One, Dick clearly felt guilty, and two, whether my opinion on Cassidy changed at all might be worth some analysis later, but one thing needed to be made clear. "Peter," I said. "Tell me. How many people have you raped in the last eight years?"

"What? None!"

"Marcos?"

"Um, no one."

"See, Dick, here's the thing. What Woody Goodman did to Beaver was horrible. No arguing. But what he did t Peter and Marcos was just as bad, and _they haven't raped anyone_. So, no. No apology for Beaver. Never."

"Really?" Dick asked, as though he'd actually thought he was going to get one.

"I believe you heard my daughter, Mr. Casablancas," Dad said.

Logan said, "Right. And now that the meeting's over, I think you have about two minutes to get off my property."

"Okay, okay. Sheesh. Come on, guys. I'll take you to McCormack." Dick stormed off around the house.

Peter said, "Thanks. Um, we didn't know he was going to do that."

"But he's been real supportive," Marcos said.

"Yeah. He has."

"Don;t worry," Dad said. "Dick's actions aren't going to affect anything else we've said tonight. Right?"

Everyone agreed.

"Good. Thanks. He's our ride -"

"Go," Dad said.

They went.

"So . . . " I said.

"So right now, we're going with them for moral support," Meg said firmly. "Duncan? You're my ride."

"Right," Duncan said. He seemed bewildered but angry. "If they're telling the truth -"

"I'm pretty sure they are, Duncan," Dad said.

"Then we need to do something." He looked at me. "I've learned not to stand idly by."

"We are. We're going to be with them for moral support. And later, maybe you can write one hell of an editorial." As they walked out, Meg added, "Call Mr. McCormack."

"That was a one-two punch," Dad said shortly afterwards.

"You think we only got hit twice?" I asked.

"I was a half second away from doing my level best to knock him into the next century," Logan said.

"Knocking him into this one would be good enough, I said. "Still, we should have guessed he'd have an ulterior motive."

Hugging me, Dad said, "It would have taken the Amazing Kreskin to guess that motive, sweetie. I'll call Cliff, and then we should get going."

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Dad?" I said as we drove home.

"Yeah?"

"I still want you to be Sheriff."

"So do I, sweetie," he said.

"Shouldn't you call Archie Boudreau?"

"Not yet," he said. "Woody's paying him – he might feel like he should warn Woody about it. And I want that son of a bitch caught completely flat-footed."

"You believe them," I said.

"Yeah. Their first step wasn't to call some shark and sue Woody for every cent he has. They've clearly been working up to even doing this. They're not out for publicity."

"So do I."

"Does this change your mind at all about Cassidy?"

From Dick Casablancas, that had been a hostile question. From Dad? All he wanted to know was how I felt.

And I'd answered Dick honestly. What had happened to Beaver might have messed him up. Badly. And having Dick as a brother hadn't helped, though I had to give Dick a half point of credit that he was actually sticking up for his brother, even if he was doing it years too late.

Still. That didn't excuse what he did later. It might not even explain it – I wasn't a psychiatrist, so I didn't know – but it sure as hell didn't excuse it. So, once again, I felt sorry for the Cassidy Beaver had been. It hadn't just been his brother who'd messed with him, his problems had started way earlier – but in no way, shape, or form, did I owe him an "apology."

Dad was waiting for my answer. I said, "Not really. I already knew he was messed up. This shouldn't have happened to him. It's monstrous that it did. But I'm not going to let him off the hook for what he did to me. Not one bit."

"That's what I thought," Dad said. "I don't either."

"So, what do we do now?"

"Wait."

XXXXXXXXX

We didn't have to wait long. About an hour after we got home, Cliff called us, grimly serious, which Cliff never is. This is a man who would be making jokes while waiting for his own execution. "Veronica," he said. "I trust your judgment. Do you believe them?"

"Yes."

"Pass me to your father."

I did so, and five seconds later Dad repeated my, "Yes."

At the other end, I heard Cliff say, "I'll do what I can."

In between that, and the call we got from Duncan an hour and a half after that, we played out the charade of a normal Monday night. We'd grabbed something to eat along the way – I'm not sure what it was, honestly, or how it tasted. It could have been smoldering tires covered in rubber cement for all the attention I paid it. I worked on my homework while Dad did some paperwork and watched reruns of _Frasier_.

I think I got the math questions right, but I couldn't have quoted you anything I read for English if my life had depended on it.

Then Duncan called. "Meg had to bail – her parents were wondering where she was. I'm here at the Sheriff's Office. That guy Holtz showed up about five minutes ago. Dick was not kidding when he said the guy was a surfer, though he got professional real quick once one of the deputies hustled him back to one of the interrogation rooms. I saw Lamb a couple minutes later, and he didn't look happy."

"Could you tell why?"

"No, and I wasn't going to ask. But he seemed genuinely pissed off, not just annoyed."

"Dick still hanging around?" I asked.

"Yeah. I'll give him credit for that. He's bored out of his mind, but he hasn't gone anywhere." My basic concept of Dick? Still a selfish, shallow jerk, who was doing this out of guilt, either that he hadn't figured out what had happened to Beaver, or because he realized he was partly responsible for what Beaver had become. Still meant he was _capable_ of guilt.

I could hear a tumult in the distance. A vague tumult, so a fistfight hadn't broken out in the main office or anything. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Lamb's yelling at someone – in his office. No idea who," Duncan said. "Wait." Duncan stayed quiet for a minute. Eventually he said, "Two of the deputies just ran out of here like they were being chased. When Lamb opened the door, I heard him say 'that bastard.' No idea who, again – and now he's looking at me."

"Go," I said.

Duncan hung up. I went out to the living room, interrupting a catastrophic wine tasting for the Crane brothers, and filled Dad in on what Duncan had said.

"Interesting," he said.

"Interesting?"

"There's not enough for us to make any deductions," Dad said. "And there are a lot of bastards in the world."

"I'm worried he thinks you're one of them."

"We'll find out," he said. "In the meantime, want to watch Frasier?"

"Not really, no," I said, and retreated to my room.

That worry, at least, seemed to be unfounded; no one showed up to kick out front door down and haul dad off in handcuffs, at any rate. I got a quick call from Duncan an hour or so later saying that all Lamb did was ask him what the hell he was doing there, and to tell him to get out when he didn't like Duncan's answer. Under the circumstances, Duncan got while the getting was good.

"Marcos and Peter's parents had gotten there, by this point," he said. "Dick was also still there. Told Lamb he was looking out for his brother and that the only way he was leaving is if he got thrown out. I didn't see how it ended."

"There's a hard battle to pick a side to root for," I said.

"You're telling me. I think if it was a football game I'd be rooting for a long, brutal, penalty-filled affair that ended in a 0-0 tie after overtime."

I didn't completely get the metaphor – I'm not much of a football fan – but I got the gist, and I agreed. "Yeah. Anyway, thanks, Duncan."

"I did what I could," he said.

"You did plenty."

"Thanks, Veronica. Goodnight."

"'night."

And then it was bedtime.

XXXXXXXXXXX

"Why are you here?" I asked Lilly. We were sitting in the stands at a high school football game. I couldn't quite make out who was playing, but I knew I was rooting against the team in the tan uniforms.

"Where's your school spirit, Veronica Mars?" she asked. "Whooooooo!"

"I thought you were my school spirit," I said. "And you didn't answer my question."

"You're funny," she said. "Go team! And I know I didn't."

"And?"

"And? You know me, I was never much for those philosophical questions. I loved my parents, but the idea that they named a scholarship after me is a scream and a half, isn't it?"

"Not what I meant," I said.

"Oh. Because I always visit you to tell you something? Oh, poo!" The star runningback for the red team had just gotten knocked out and was being carried off the field; the tan team had recovered the ball and their quarterback, an asshole, was strutting onto the field.

"I'm hoping for tomorrow's winning lottery numbers," I said.

"If I knew that, would I be here?" Lilly asked. "Anyway, I'm not trying to tell you anything, you know; You're trying to tell you something and just using my own fabulous self to do it."

"And once again we're back to, why are you here?" I asked.

"Red team sucks!" I heard a voice behind me say.

"Quiet, Mom," Lilly said.

"Yeah, shut up, Celeste! Red Team's awesome!"

"I'm not rooting for either team," another voice behind me said. It was Beaver Casablancas. "I just want to see the stadium collapse. To hell with everyone."

"We can't control what's going on on the field," Lilly said, apparently not having heard Beaver.

"Never thought I could," I said.

"Oh, Veronica. You think you can control everything if you try hard enough, and you can't, you really can't. The most you can do –"

"I said the red team sucked!" Celeste said again.

Lilly turned around and punched her mother in the face. "The most you can do is deal with whatever's going on in the stands."

Riots were breaking out all over the stadium. Peter and Marcos were attacking the fallen red team runningback, red team and tan team supporters were beating each other senseless, until Lilly stood up on her seat and whistled loudly enough to be heard over everything. "Hey!" she yelled. "There's a game going on! Sit down and shut up!"

Things got quiet and the game resumed. "That's how you do it," she said.

"That's how you do it," I said. "Me? I don't have your personality."

"Who does? I am just that awesome," Lilly said. "But you'll find a way. You always do."

I woke up – fortunately, to the sound of the alarm, so I didn't end up shortchanged on sleep.

I'd figure out what Lilly had been trying to tell me later; meanwhile, as Charlie Brown says, time to dread another day.


	26. The Other Shoe

There was nothing on the radio in the morning about Woody Goodman being arrested; for all I knew, he hadn't been, though I doubt even Don Lamb would scramble his deputies to go after "that bastard" and be talking about the pizza guy.

The day at school was an exercise in patience; there was an awful lot of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And boy, did it drop slowly. Peter and Marcos weren't in school. It took a couple of periods for me to realize that Gia Goodman wasn't, either.

I asked Mac if there had been any unusual activity on the Neptune High board the previous night; "Define unusual," she said, and was mildly put out when my answer was "you'll know it when you see it."

"This isn't my secret to give away," I said. "I'll talk about it when it gets around."

"I'm holding you to that, Mars," she said.

I first heard Goodman had been arrested in study hall. No one knew where the story had originated, but it was (as usual) Carrie Bishop spreading the word. To give her credit, she wasn't treating it as "juicy gossip," but as a serious story.

By lunch, muttering about Goodman's arrest was all over school. Meg grabbed me while I was eating and told me Ms. Stafford wanted to see us.

"Can't she wait till this afternoon?" Wallace asked, sitting next to Jackie.

"Is this about Goodman?" Meg nodded. "Okay. I'm coming." I packed up the rest of my lunch. "I'll explain later," I said to Wallace. "I owe one to you and Mac."

"Okay . . ." he said.

"You didn't get him arrested, did you?" Jackie asked.

I could say, honestly, "No."

"'cause he's got a lot of friends and if this is all fake I wouldn't want to be one of those who got him in trouble. That's all I'm saying."

"It's not fake," Meg said tightly. "Come on, Veronica."

"I said if!" Jackie called after us.

I decided then and there that Wallace could do better.

And when we got to Ms. Stafford's room I stopped thinking about it for a while. She was sitting at her desk and looked like she'd been crying.

"Close the door," she said, sniffling. No, nothing gets by me.

Meg closed it and we went up and sat down in the front row. "Did this come from me?" Ms. Stafford asked.

Meg and I looked at each other, and I said, "The timing. Only the timing."

"They were going to come out anyway," Meg said. "Me looking into it moved up their schedule, but that's it."

Now that it was public, we had nothing to hide, so Meg and I gave her a five-minute summary of our investigation and what had happened yesterday. When it was done she said, "I still can't help thinking that this is my fault." When I opened my mouth, she said, "Oh, I don't mean what happened to Peter and Marcos and Cassidy, I mean – well, you know. The chaos."

"There would have been chaos even if you'd spent the entire time taking batting practice from Terrence Cook," I said. "If anything, I've got even more respect for you than I already did."

Another sniffle, and "Really?"

Meg agreed, saying, "Yes! You picked up on this. No one else did – and it's been going on for at least a decade, and there have been signs going back to freshman year, at least."

I said, "Basically, you saw that there was something wrong when they weren't so enthusiastic about cheering along with Woody Goodman, and – against my better judgment – convinced us to take it from there. And you were right, and I was wrong." After a second I added, "You might not have thought that it was going to go here, but you knew it was going somewhere."

"Yeah," she said. "I guess I did. Still, I didn't want to force them into coming out if they didn't want to."

"You didn't force them to do anything," Meg said.

"Okay," she said, then grinned. "Does this mean next time you'll listen to me?"

"Hey, I listened this time!" I protested. "Next time, though, I'll listen harder."

XXXXXXX

The afternoon classes might as well not have happened, for all the attention most people were paying to it. I was relieved that I didn't hear anyone – not even Madison Sinclair, Vanessa Mencken, or people like that – try to connect Dad to the issue in any way, shape or form.

I met Wallace and Mac after school at Java the Hut to tell them what they'd missed. When I was done, Mac said, "Kind of makes the thing with Trina seem petty, doesn't it?"

"Makes damn near everything seem petty," I said. "Doesn't mean we don't still have to deal with the petty stuff, though."

Wallace was shaking his head. "Wow. He seemed like such a nice guy, too." At my inquiring look, he said, "He gave the basketball team a pep talk last year."

"The basketball team went to the state semifinals last year," I said.

"That's when he gave the talk," Wallace said. "Huh."

"Huh?" I asked.

"Will Jenkins had his worst game of the year after that and we lost the game. Back then we just made jokes about making sure we never had Goodman try to pump us up again. Now I'm wondering if it was something else."

"Damn," I said. "You want to look into it?"

"I think I'd better," Wallace said.

"Any help, let me know," I said. "In the meantime, Mac: Finger on the pulse?"

"Trina's a joke, Don Lamb's a jerk, and I'll keep an eye on this."

"Please. It's one of the petty things: Let me know if anyone drags Dad's name into it."

"I will," Mac said.

"And now I've got to go," Wallace said. "Going to do some studying with Jackie. And after what we talked about, I think it's just studying. I'll let you know if I need any help."

We went our separate ways, all grimmer than usual.

On the way home I heard another bit of news, though the Goodman story dominated pretty much everything that wasn't sports and weather: Richard Casablancas Sr. had fled town in his private helicopter a couple of steps ahead of federal investigators. Kendall Casablancas had cleared out their joint bank account and was last seen heading north in a car going somewhere in the triple digits.

Little Dick might be about to find himself homeless and broke.

I didn't care. I wish I did, on some level, but I didn't. Does that make me a bad person?

XXXXXXXXXX

Dad wasn't at the office and he wasn't answering his phone, so I drove home.

He wasn't there, either. I took Backup for a quick walk, fed him, and gave him some attention, and called Dad three more times.

Finally, right about the time I would have been starting to round up a posse, he walked in, looking like he'd just run an obstacle course while simultaneously being interrogated by Jack Bauer. In short, frazzled.

He walked up and hugged me, then petted Backup as I said, "If you don't want your daughter to panic," I said, "answer your phone, would you?"

"Oh. Right. That. I turned it off around 1:30 today and forgot to turn it back on. You'll never guess who called me today."

Sensing that Dad wasn't in the mood for one of our hilarious guessing game routines – neither was I, for that matter – I said, "The way this last couple of days has gone, probably Woody Goodman."

"I wish I could say you were wrong."

I hadn't been joking, exactly, but I hadn't actually meant it in other than a bitter and cynical way. "You're kidding."

"Does this look like the face of a man who's kidding?" Dad asked, irritably. (The irritation wasn't directed at me.)

"No. No it doesn't. What happened?"

XXXXXXXX

Well, [Dad began], I figured I wasn't going to be getting a lot of PI work done today once the crap hit the fan, so I spent most of the day doing what I could from the office – paperwork, placing a few calls, et cetera. Around 11 or so I got a call from Archie Boudreau.

"Keith," he said. "Did you know that Woody Goodman had been arrested?"

Since I didn't know - "No. I didn't," I said, trying to sound concerned. "What happened?"

"Two boys came into the Neptune Sheriff's Office and claimed that Goodman molested them. That idiot Sheriff listened to them for five minutes and sent two deputies out to haul Woody out of a family dinner, and he's been in the Sheriff's Office ever since."

"I take it you don't believe the charges?" I tried to stay calm.

"I don't know what to believe, Keith, but he's my client and the timing's awfully suspicious, don't you think? Less than a month before the election?"

"Suspicious? Woody's running unopposed. Do you think there's anyone out there who's so fanatic about None of the Above that they'd try to trump something up?"

"Not where I was going, Keith; but Woody's rich, the boys came down here with two lawyers –"

"I'd think if they were going after money, that they would have gone to Woody privately and tried to blackmail him," I said. "Have they asked for money?"

"Not that Woody's told me," he said. "Neither have the parents, either, although one of them was screaming bilingually that Woody was going to pay for what he did to her son."

"How did you talk with him?"

"I'm a lawyer," he said. "Until I can round up someone better, I'm representing him."

"Okay. So, why are you calling?"

"Well," he said, "Two things. One, I was hoping to schedule some time to talk about what this might mean for your campaign."

"Do you think it'll affect it? I'm not him."

"No, but he backed you, and people who think he's guilty – not that we do, of course - might hold that against you, even if they don't think you knew anything about what he supposedly did." Archie was being a little free with that we, but I wasn't going to let him know he was wrong just yet."

"Fair point," I said. "They also might wonder why Lamb didn't pick up on it."

"That would also apply to you. You've been sheriff over this timeframe longer than he has."

He was right, dammit. "You said two things," I said.

"Oh. Right. Woody also wants to hire you to investigate these boys. He wants you to prove they're lying."

Of course he did.


	27. A Day in the Life of Keith Mars

This chapter is entirely Keith's narration.

And thanks to ColMikeFuser for making me aware of "misprision of a felony." I knew the concept, which is why Keith couldn't have just sat on the information, but I didn't know there was an actual term for it.

XXXXXXXXXX

I would have laughed [Dad continued] if the whole situation hadn't been so weird. "I'm not sure that's a good idea," I said.

"Why?" Archie asked.

I couldn't say that hadn't crossed my mind, sweetie, but it wasn't my main concern. Still, if that's what he was thinking, I wasn't going to contradict him. "Before I answer," I said. "I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"I'm your client, too, right?"

"Right. You're paying me to help you win the Sheriff's election."

"So," I asked. "What happens to my chances if Don Lamb heroically takes down a pedophile and I'm publicly trying to throw the two boys who accused him under the bus?"

"Conversely, what happens to your chances if you defend an innocent man against a corrupt and out of control sheriff?"

"Do you really think people are going to see it that way? I mean, I bet you already have your finger on the pulse of public reaction."

"It's ridiculously early, Keith. The news only broke a couple of hours ago."

"And?"

"And people are barely talking about anything else," he said.

"And as my political consultant, what's your advice to me?"

He sighed; I'd backed him into a corner, which was my intention all along. "My advice is to keep clear and say that you hope the truth comes out, whatever it is."

"Right," I said. "Then I'll do that, and if the charges are fake, we can go from there. Okay?"

"Okay," he said. "Talk with you later, Keith."

I got maybe another page of paperwork done before the first reporter called.

So I said, "I just recently heard that he was arrested. If he's guilty, then he should be prosecuted; and if he's not, I'm sure the system will work itself out." Which, of course, I'm never sure of, but I wasn't going to be cynical for a reporter.

I gave similar no-answer answers to the other couple of questions, and then managed to get maybe another quarter page of work done before the second reporter called.

It was apparently going to be one of those kind of days.

I politely worked my way through the next five reporters – mostly local, though there was one from San Diego and one from LA – before deciding that I wasn't going to get any work done today, and locking up the office and leaving.

I'm sorry I didn't think to call you right then, sweetie, but I didn't think things would go quite the way they did.

From that point, I called Lynn on my cell phone—she's still filming, but she offered us the use of her place to hide out in again if we needed. I thanked her and said I didn't think it would go that badly.

"Do you think the charges are true, Keith?" she asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I wish I could say otherwise."

"Okay. Thanks." After a second. "Keith Mars for Sheriff's still a go, right?"

"Far as I'm concerned."

"Good."

At that point, I went out for lunch – Cho's pizzeria, actually. The pizza – well, you know how good it is – but more importantly, it's somewhat out of the way, in case anyone was looking for me.

[Veronica here; I asked Dad, 'Who did you think might be looking for you?"

"Mostly reporters," Dad said. "I didn't think my name would have come up in the investigation, but if it had, I wanted to have time to think things over and get the story straight in my head."

"You have my express permission," I said, "To bring me up whenever I'm actually in the story. You only got involved in this by accident." I shrugged. "I've got nothing to be ashamed of here and I didn't do anything wrong."

"I agree," Dad said. "Still, here, it's not you I'm trying to protect."

"Meg."

"Yup. I'm still not completely sure what's going on with her, but I don't think her parents would appreciate her being in the middle of this."

No. No, they would not.]

Anyway, [Dad continued], I was most of the way through my second slice when I got a call on my cell phone.

It was Archie Boudreau again. "He wants to talk to you," he said.

"He, who?"

"This isn't the time to be funny, Keith," he said. 'Who do you think?"

"Then put him on."

"He's in an interrogation room," Archie said. "Do you think they're just going to let me hand him my phone?"

I'd known that, of course. "So what do you want me to do?" I asked.

"I want you to come down here."

I'd passed near the Sheriff's office on my way to Cho's. The place was mobbed. "I don't think so," I said. "Not unless Don Lamb summons me down there personally. There are too many people down there." Not if hell froze over, was what I wanted to say. I was making these political arguments because they were true, but mostly because they let me not say until I had to that I thought Woody Goodman had molested those two boys and likely many more.

Why was I holding out? At that point I actually didn't give a darn about "dancing with who brung me" or any nonsense like that; but I figured Archie, at least, should hear it in person, not over the phone.

The story would come out about our conversation in the Echolls' backyard. I was trying to downplay that as much as I could.

[Veronica here: The big problem here is Dick Casablancas, who has absolutely no reason to do us any favors and might, given his sudden near-bankruptcy, might be all for going for a scorched earth policy. Or he might bring it up by accident. Or, hell, Peter or Marcos might. Long and short, the story was getting out. And the person we needed to protect in all of this was Meg. I didn't think her parents went this far in their abuse, and for all I knew they might be horrified by it too (murderers spit on pedophiles), but I wouldn't bet fifty cents on the possibility.]

Archie sighed [Dad went on]. "Okay, Keith. I've already turned the case over to someone who's trying to get him released on bail. Will you talk to him once he's clear of the station?"

"I'll see," I said.

At that point, I drove around for a bit, stopped off at home and unhooked the answering machine, picked up some "Keith Mars for Sheriff" signs Archie had gotten made, and did some rummaging in an old bookstore. Eventually I got another call –

From Don Lamb. "Keith," he said.

"Don."

"Did you know anything about this?"

"Did I know anything about what?" Before he had a chance to answer, I went on, "Because I know you know me well enough to know I wouldn't have known what woody Goodman's accused of doing for a second without bringing it to you."

"See, that's the thing," Don said. "You didn't bring it to me."

"I didn't, because I didn't know," I said. "And any more accusations like that and you'll be talking to dead air."

"I don't actually think you knew he was a child rapist," Don said, sounding genuinely angry.

[Veronica's note: Even Don Lamb has a line below which he won't go to suck up to an '09er, I guess.]

"Good."

"But I do think you knew that the boys were going to accuse him and didn't tell me."

"I assume you'd like to hear my part of the story," I said.

"Yeah. Yeah, I would."

"I'll be down there this evening."

[Veronica here: "Does that mean we have to go down to the Sheriff's Office again?"

"Not we," Dad said. "Me."]

"You'd better, or I'll swear out a warrant for misprision. " He hung up, abruptly. He was angry. Actually angry, not "I'm going to screw with you because I don't like you" angry. It seemed we'd found Don Lamb's boiling point.

By the way: Misprision of a felony isn't a state law, it's a federal one, and it's usually used only against people who have a duty to report. Whether I would or not is an interesting question, but one I'd rather not have settled in open court.

I left the bookstore and as I got into my car got another call. This one was from Woody himself. "Hey. Keith," he said. "Archie said you're a difficult man to convince."

Difficult wasn't the word; Woody could have handed over a million in hard cash and I wouldn't have wanted to talk to the man. But I wanted to talk to Archie face to face and I figured I might as well kill two birds with one stone by telling Woody to his face that I thought he was guilty.

"I'm on my way," I said. And then I turned my phone off. Once again, Veronica, I'm so sorry that I didn't call you to let you know something was going on. I guess I figured I'd get home in time enough that you wouldn't worry.

So I drove over there. It was around 4:00 when I got there.

[Veronica's note: I got home about 4:30 or so and started worrying the second time I couldn't get through to Dad. He gets home later than he did today often enough, it's just that he usually tells me.]

But when I got to the Goodman estate, I found myself forcing myself to go the rest of the way up the drive. I really didn't want to talk to the man. Not for a second.

And who did I run into first when I step out of the car? His daughter. Who started talking before I even had time to put both feet on the driveway and didn't stop until I got into the study, where Archie and Woody were waiting. Basically, she spent two and a half minutes and several hundred words trying to convince me that her Dad was awesome and couldn't possibly have done it and pretty much begging me to clear him because he was a good Dad and he loved her and I was the only one who could clear his good name and –

You know, I don't think she stopped to take a breath once until Woody told her, irritably, to leave the study because the grownups were talking.

Woody said, "Keith, what can I to do get you to help me here?" 

Well, so much for possibly easing into this. "Honestly, Woody?"

"Please."

"Not a damn thing. And -" I said to stop Archie, who looked like he was about to say something – "This has nothing to do with the politics of all of it. I've talked to those boys. I believe them."

Woody got angry. "Now, look, Keith. You owe me -"

"I owe you? You convinced me to run for Sheriff, you didn't give me a kidney. And even if you had, nothing you could have done for me would be worth selling my soul."

"And when I win anyway? Those boys are lying!"

"I don't think so. And I've spent most of my life learning how to judge when someone's lying and when they're telling the truth. I've gotten pretty good at it. Those boys aren't lying, Woody; you are. You molested them."

"Then look at me and tell me if I'm lying right now when I say that screwing me over right now would be a very big mistake."

"You think you're not," I said. "But I don't care. Archie? I think you might want to find a better class of employer."

"Archie's my lawyer," Woody said.

"Doesn't mean he can't quit," I said.

"I can't. Not at the moment," Archie said.

"Okay. I think I get it. I'll see myself out."

I walked back through the house; Gia Goodman approached me but veered off at the last minute, I didn't know why.

I wasn't too concerned about Woody's threat, though.

Why?

Because Archie had had all day to track down a better lawyer, and hadn't. My guess? No one reputable wanted to touch this. They'd find someone, but it wouldn't be someone with the reputation Woody might want – someone beyond reproach, someone who'd defend nuns accused of jaywalking.

And that told me it wasn't just me, you, and Don Lamb who thought he was guilty.

Which meant he'd be too busy defending himself to bother with me.

So, how was your day?


	28. Reality Bites

"Oh, same ol' same ol'," I said. "Though school was just about useless after lunch. And – wow. Some day you had. Are you sure about Woody?"

Dad nodded. "I'm sure. I'm not as sure about Archie, but he's kind of caught between a rock and a hard place. I didn't fire him and he didn't resign, but I'm going by the assumption that from here on out we're going to be minus one campaign manager."

"We weren't expecting to have one in the first place. I'm not counting that as a loss."

"True. Anyway, let's eat something fast, because I have to be down to talk with Lamb as soon as I can."

Sure enough, Dad was gone within 45 minutes,and warned me not to leave the apartment unless it was on fire. So I busied myself with homework, and when I was done with that I called Mac. "This is all _anyone_'s talking about,' Mac said. "And not that many are bringing your Dad up."

"Anyone blaming him? And did anyone mention Meg?" 

"No on Meg."

"Yes on Dad?" I asked nervously.

"Not so much blaming him as wondering what he knew and when he knew it."

"What about your parents?" I asked. 'What do they think?"

"They're still gung-ho on the idea of Mars for Sheriff," she said. "I haven't heard any supporters of your Dad becoming ex-supporters, but I haven't quite been paying as much attention to them. Still, Dad's talked to Clemmons, Ms. Stafford, and the Whitlocks, and they're all firmly on your Dad's side in this.

This was good. "And about Woody Goodman?"

"They tend to think he's guilty," Mac said. "But there's a fair number of people who want to let things play out, and still some who think the boys are our for money and that he's getting a raw deal."

"Anyone yelling loud and long that he's guilty? Among the kids, I mean, for the most part."

"Yeah."

"Make a note of their names. Send them to me."

"Other victims?" Mac asked.

"Or maybe people who know other victims. Or none of the above. It's still worth looking into. Thanks."

"No problem."

"Could you defend Dad if anyone directly accuses him of anything?"

"You have to ask?"

"Thanks."

Wallace was studying with Jackie, so I didn't bother calling him. Tomorrow was soon enough, and he'd call me if something horrendous was going on.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Dad didn't get in till nearly eleven. He seemed like he'd just been through an ordeal, so I didn't want to pressure him. All I asked was, "Does he think you did anything wrong?"

"No."

"Thank God."

"Yeah," Dad said. "But I was right when I said he was genuinely ticked off, and I was right. He wasn't playing games at all. So I returned the favor and gave him the whole story."

"The _whole_ story?"

"I minimized Meg as much as I could. I told Lamb that Meg and Duncan were that your invite just like me and Logan were. Otherwise, I was completely honest."

"Okay."

"He's not even thinking politically. On the way out, I casually mentioned, 'This'll look good for you,' and he gave me a dirty look and said he didn't give a shit about that right now.' And once again, I'm pretty sure he wasn't jerking me around."

"You're safe?" I asked.

"I'm safe."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Mac handed me a list of names before school the next morning, as well as as some transcripts. "These are the ones who were bellowing his guilt the loudest. One of them's that dude Wallace mentioned yesterday – Will whatshisname."

"Jenkins," I said. "Thanks. I'll talk to Wallace."

I wasn't able to track him down till lunch. Early on I saw him in a clinch with Jackie and figured discretion was the better part, considering last Friday. Not that they weren't still together at lunch, and not that she still didn't shoot me a dirty look, but I had to catch up with him sometime.

"Goldilocks," Jackie said. "Don't you have some bears to annoy?"

"Ease off," Wallace said.

"What did I do to you?" I asked Jackie. "I don't remember calling you names, running you over with my car or getting you arrested. Or anything like that. At all."

"I don't like the way you use Wallace," she said.

I asked, "Wallace? Have I been using you?"

Wallace looked back and forth between me and Jackie, realized neither one of us was going to let him get away with not answering the question, finally said, "Not much recently."

Jackie turned her head I disgust, while I said, " Good. Anyway, I actually need to talk to you in private. About that thing you and Mac and I were talking about yesterday after school."

Wallace said, "Yeah. Jackie, I pretty much have to take this."

As he started to stand up, Jackie said, "No, don't bother. I think we're done here." She made a production of storming off and throwing her trash away.

"I really haven't been using you much recently, have I?"

Sighing, Wallace said, "Less than you used to."

"Because I really have been trying to do better at that." I have, I swear. It's a lesson I'm determined to learn: My friends are not my friends for whatever use they can be to me.

"It's been showing."

"Good. Then what the hell's her problem?" I pointed the direction Jackie'd taken off in.

"Whatever it is, I'll deal with it," he said.

"Not arguing," I said, holding up my hands. "Just letting you know I'm not all that happy with her attitude."

"Noted and logged," he said. "Now. What about Will? What did you find out?"

"I was going to ask you," I said. "Only thing I've got is what Mac found out last night – he was one of the ones saying how guilty Woody is. So I'm guessing you haven't had a chance to talk to him."

"Nope. Planning to do it after practice this afternoon. I'll be extra-careful."

"I trust you. You are Mr. Cool, after all."

"I hope I can be."

"Like I said: I trust you."

XXXXXXXXXX

Logan and I stopped for a coffee after school and very carefully talked about nothing that had happened in the last week – not Trina's commercial, not Lamb's exploits on the Sheriff Office roof, not the Sheriff's race as a whole, not Woody, not even the catastrophic fall of Dick Casablancas Sr.

We managed about a half hour of relaxing before my phone rang. It was Dad. "Where are you?"

"Java the Hut. Why?"

"Could you come down to the office as soon as you can?" he asked. "Wallace is here. And he brought his friend Will."

Faster than I thought. Wallace was Mr. Cool, all right. "Good."

"What's that?"

"Nothing. I'll be right there." I hung up.

"Reality bites," Logan said. "Ben Stiller. Winona Ryder. Or possibly Janeane Garofalo."

"Did any of them actually say it?"

"Probably not. I never really liked that movie, anyway." More seriously, he said, "Do you want me to go with you?"

Personally, I'd love it. Apart from last Saturday, Logan and I hadn't had a whole lot of time together recently – not much that wasn't business, anyway. Still, since Wallace had brought Will, as few people as possible hanging around was probably the best way to go. I was honestly surprised Dad had even called me. "Better not," I said. "This is one of _those_ situations."

Logan sighed. "Too much to expect even a full hour without being forced to deal with the fallout, isn't it?"

"Today, at least, yeah," I said.

"Perhaps Ms. MacKenzie would be up for a video game challenge."

Possibly, but I doubted it. Still, "Can't hurt to ask."

"Saturday's keeping me going. You know that, right?"

Trying to keep things light, I said, "Hey, you knew this was me when you set out to 'win me over' in the first place. Love me, love my investigations."

"I love them both," he said. "I'm merely expressing my frustration, not holding you responsible. I can sublimate. For a while. I know how important this is."

"For a while?"

"Hey, a boy's got needs. Which I hope at the moment to go sublimate with MacKenzie." We kissed goodbye. "With some difficulty," he muttered as he pulled free.

Exeunt omnes.

XXXXXXXXXXX

I got to the office and discovered Wallace sitting in the lobby, with Dad talking to someone in private. Wallace confirmed that yep, that was Will Jenkins in there, and he'd been in there long enough that he wasn't simply telling Dad to take a flying leap off the Coronado Bridge.

"I hate being right," Wallace said.

"I hear you."

"Didn't you say that Mac had a list of the loudest complainers?"

"Yeah."

Wallace said, "You might want to go over it with her and forward the names to your Dad. "Because Will's in there right now telling every damn thing Woody did to him."

"Thanks, Wallace," I said. "I told you you could do it."

"It ain't fun. I'm telling you that much."

"This? No. Not remotely. But it's something that had to be done."

"I've got no problem helping. Don't get me wrong. But there's a reason I don't do this kind of thing for a living."

My answer was interrupted when Dad's office door opened and Will came out. Dad said, "Wait here." Will nodded and sat down. This was the first time I'd seen him. He was a bit below average height – wiry and athletic, though. "Veronica?" Dad said. "Could I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure."

"Shut the door," he said as I walked in. I did so. Dad seemed upset, and this time I really had no idea why. I'd been mostly behaving myself since that visit to the bar.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Are you trying to dig up more names of Woody's victims?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm doing what I can." Trying to take care of the folks in the stands. Letting the action on the field take care of itself.

"Why?"

"It's the right thing," I said. "Plus, the more accusers, the harder it is for anyone to dismiss this, and the more effort Woody's got to put into defending himself – which means less time and resources he has to spend on 'getting even' with you for not backing him up."

"I think you've forgotten which one of us is supposed to be the protector and which one of us is supposed to be the protectee," Dad said.

"You watch my back, I watch yours. That's what daughters do. And – there might be more."

"More?"

"Yeah. That's what I'm going to find out over the next couple of days. I have some leads. And nothing you say or do is going to get me to not track these people down. So don't try."

"I think you underestimate what it is I can say and do," he said, sighing. "But I'm not going to try. Just pass on the names to be before doing anything possibly dangerous."

"That was my plan all along," I said.

"Good."

As I stood up, I said, "Hey. If you weren't mad at me, why did you seem upset when I walked in?"

"What had I just been listening to?" Dad asked.

"Oh." I felt like an idiot. An egotistical idiot, at that. It wasn't a huge mistake, but still, not everything is about me.

I will learn that. Eventually.


	29. The List of Veronica Mars

Dad took Will Jenkins down to Lamb's office and he told the Sheriff what Woody Goodman had done. Lamb promptly went down to the Goodman mansion and rearrested him. I hoped he'd be doing a lot of that.

This time, Archie Boudreau couldn't get him bail, even in Neptune. '09er influence has its limits.

Mac and I went over her list the next day after school. Gia was once again absent. I could hardly blame her.

The only news I got during the day was that Richard Casablancas Sr. had been seen in Mexico, Kendall Casablancas had been caught in Reno, and that Little Dick was going to be allowed to finish out his school year at the private school he was currently attending, but that after that he was on his own.

(His own bank account? Also untouchable, but there wasn't that much money in there. Certainly not enough to keep him living in the style to which he'd become accustomed.)

There were 17 students on the list. Two I eliminated right away – they were girls, and pedophiles tend to stick to a type. Woody's type was 9-11 year old boys. Girls were safe around him.

I wondered about his own son. That was another reason to get the bastard off the streets as soon as possible.

Of the remaining 15, two hadn't been in Neptune before they were overaged, one was paraplegic (Goodman had never coached a wheelchair league; I checked), and one was Dick Casablancas, who somehow still had his access to the Neptune High boards.

("Given your history," Mac said, "Wouldn't you rather know what he's up to?" I conceded the point.)

That left 11.

Of those 11, four threw me out of the house when I brought up Woody Goodman. Three of the 7 who were left didn't throw me out, but they made it very clear that, while something had happened, they weren't willing to talk about it, to me or anyone. (I kept their names in reserve. Dad might be able to get somewhere, where I couldn't.)

The parents of one of the four remaining ran me out and started cursing at me in mixed Spanish and English when they overheard the conversation and started yelling at their son not to "embarrass" them like that. Whatever else one can say about Marcos Oliveres' parents, at the very least they were sticking by their son and weren't treating him like by coming forward he was somehow bringing shame to his family.

That left three, all of whom I took to see my father, who listened to them and promptly took them in to Don Lamb, who then arrested Woody on three more counts. Cliff and Larry Holtz then jointly publicly made a plea for any additional victims to step forward.

Note that I'm leaving a lot of the details out – it's not like I managed to get all of the above done in the span of a day, or even by the end of the week. I didn't get the third person in to see Dad till the following Tuesday.

By that point Archie Boudreau had resigned from his job as council to Woody Goodman, now that Woody had managed to obtain a shark from Los Angeles, who came in and started throwing around words like "witch hunt," "moneygrubbing," "incompetent local law enforcement," "benefit of the doubt," what this is doing to his family," and things like that.

I could hardly argue with Goodman's lawyer about the local law enforcement, even if Lamb seemed to be taking this more seriously than he'd ever taken anything in his life.

"Witch hunt" was SOP for someone in Goodman's circumstances, but until they started dragging him from his house to be burned at the stake in front of Java the Hut, all it was was empty rhetoric.

"Moneygrubbing?" I suppose to the extent that some of the kids clearly wanted compensation, but not a single one of them, from Peter to the last one I'd found, had dropped out in exchange for a mysterious cash payout, and while the attorney had indeed brought forth a couple of anonymous blackmail notes that Goodman had gotten since this all started, none of them had proven to be anything more than a couple of local yahoos out for a quick payout.

"Benefit of the doubt?" Also standard lawyer-speak. The concept of "innocent until proven guilty" is a terrific one, but it applies to actual courts of law, not courts of public opinion, and public opinion was not in his favor – so much so the venue was likely to have to be changed.

"What this is doing to his family" was that his wife had grabbed their son and taken off to "visit relatives" somewhere in parts unknown. Gia, on the other hand, was loyally sticking by her father, but she was almost the only significant person doing so.

That Sunday, we could have had a client. A woman walked in – rich woman named Julie something. She wanted us to do some research into her boyfriend, but under the circumstances, we really didn't have the time – even I didn't have the time. So we had to, reluctantly, point her towards another detective.

Not Vinnie Van Lowe. I have too much respect for, well, anyone short of Celeste Kane to pass them on to Vinnie.

That Tuesday, as I was taking my fourth and final find to Dad's office, a few things happened.

Kendall Casablancas was extradited back to Neptune, where she swore up down and sideways that the only reason she'd run is because she'd gotten a message from her husband telling her to get out of town.

Woody Goodman left the "mayoral" race, citing the need to defend himself against these spurious charges. His wife was back by his side. His son, pointedly, was not, and his wife looked like she was standing next to him because she'd be shot in the kneecaps if she moved.

Three, Weevil and the PCH'ers got into a full-scale brawl with the Fitzpatricks – and that's the kind of fight that they were going to lose, because unlike the Red Diamonds, the Fitzpatricks didn't have "fun brawls." At least not with other gangs, even ones that weren't exactly rivals.

I found this out when Weevil came to school on Wednesday looking like he'd just been on the wrong side of a fistfight with the Hulk. "What the hell?" I asked.

"Are you okay?" Meg asked.

"Do I look okay?"

"No," Meg said. "You look like you should be in the hospital."

"Been there, done that," he said. "Doc London took care of me personally last night."

"What happened?"

"Told you I was looking into why Thumper did what he did," he said. "Last night I found out. He'd been working an angle with the Fitzpatricks."

"What?" I said.

"Yeah. He was kind of setting the PCH'ers up to be the Fitzpatrick's flunkies in exchange for some extra cash. He killed Felix 'cause he wanted me distracted while he took over the gang."

Meg said, "That might not have been the only reason."

"What're you talking about?" Weevil asked.

"Felix and Molly Fitzpatrick," he said, speaking so low she was practically whispering, "had a thing."

"How do you know?"

"I could tell you I'd learned a lot from you, Ronniekins," she said, "But truth? Pure luck. I was running to do an interview for the TV show when I rounded the corner and saw them kissing. Even I knew that was Romeo and Juliet level of trouble, so I stepped back and dropped my binder, then picked it up and came around the corner again. Felix was coming towards me, Molly was going the other way."

She had learned something from me: not to be seen. She broke that up without making it obvious like a pro.

Weevil was shaking his head. "Man. He was really keeping that on the DL if me and you and the gossip queen of Neptune high didn't know anything about it."

"Yeah, that's a pretty tall order, but I can see why they did it," I said. "You think the Fitzpatricks could've specifically asked them to kill Felix because of this?"

"I can see the Fitzpatricks getting Felix killed for looking at Molly funny," he said. "All those pendejos see us as being good for is to do their grunt work. That's what they told me when I asked 'em – and that far as they were concerned Thumper'd been speaking for all of the PCH'ers and that it was about time we started living up to our end of the bargain. I told them where to stick their bargain, and that's when the fight started."

"Be careful," I said. "I like you alive."

"I like me alive, too," he said. "I still ain't looking for any help."

"If you need some, you know where to look," I said.

"Goes for me as well," Meg said. "Remember," and then she saw a couple of sentences in Spanish.

Weevil laughed, winced, and said, "Si. But it ain't like you blend."

Meg grinned evilly. "Exactly. Who expects me to know any Spanish at all? I'm just a rich blonde Anglo."

"True. Off chance I can think of something, I'll keep you in mind." He said something in Spanish, and walked away.

"You're not going to tell me what he said, are you?" I said as we headed to class.

"I like knowing more than you do about something, Ronniekins."

The fourth thing that happened over that time period involved my BFF – more specifically, his mother.

She came to the office that Wednesday, when Wallace and I were at school. I know this, because she was still there when I showed up that afternoon. "Mars for Sheriff" was meeting again that night and Dad had asked me to take care of some of the political paperwork – sorting checks, etc, and yes, we were still getting campaign contributions.

The backlash from the arrest of Woody Goodman had hurt Dad and helped Lamb, though Lamb had been true to his word and hadn't once brought it up himself in press conferences. He hadn't refrained from talking about it, or from doing some general campaigning, but on the subject of Woody Goodman he was curt and to the point.

Hell, he even mentioned that Dad had brought him the other victims. He didn't go out of his way to stress it, but he didn't pretend it was his own police work that had brought these people in, either.

I still don't think he'd changed. I just think this was finally something serious enough he wasn't willing to play games with it.

Anyway, I was talking about Alicia Fennel, not Deputy Lamb. I was just stepping in when I heard Alicia say, "Thanks, Keith," as she was walking out of the office door.

"Of course. Anything for you," Dad said. "Anything that doesn't involve a felony, that is."

"I just want to keep me and Wallace safe, you know? I don't know who this guy is, but I know he's not here for anything good." Wait, someone was bothering Wallace and his mom? Oh, hell no.

"I know. And after – after last spring, it's the least I can do."

"I never blamed you about that," she said. "You did the right thing. Not saying it made me happy, but –" What were they talking about?

What could they be talking about?

I didn't think I wanted the answer.

"Hold on," Dad said.

I finished stepping in. "Hi, Ms. Fennel!" I said, to preempt anything Dad might have been about to say about me eavesdropping. "Here to volunteer as a campaign worker?"

"Actually—" Dad said.

"We were just discussing a 'get-out-the-vote' effort," Ms. Fennel said. "See what we can do to get people to the polls. I'll get right on that, Keith. Thanks for the ideas."

"You're welcome," Dad said, bemusedly. "See you later, Alicia." When the door shut behind her, he turned to me. "How much did you hear?"

"Everything after 'he isn't here for anything good," I said, not exactly lying. "I'll say this much, though: She's not a very good liar."

"This is none of your business."

"Answer me two questions," I said. "One, this is a case, right?"

"Right," Dad said.

"And is someone harassing her or Wallace? Look. Wallace is my friend. If someone might be after him, I can least passively help by keeping my eyes open."

"Nothing active," Dad said.

"I swear. May I never again drink coffee if I'm lying."

He raised his eyebrows. "You're serious."

"As a stroke. Wallace is my friend. I don't like it when people go after my friends or their families."

"Okay, then. Keep your eyes open for anyone who seems to be spying on Wallace. But do nothing but look, and run. Got it?"

"Got it. In the meantime, what was that last thing you and Ms. Fennel were talking about?"

"What – oh. That is none of your business. At all. Understood?"

I said, "understood."

But – really? None of my business?

He don't know me vewy well, do he?


	30. Take a Picture

The next day at school, I caught up with Wallace. "I don't know what Dad was doing there," I said. "Maybe he was telling the truth." Dad had dropped by the Fennels early in the morning, doing some early surveillance. Wallace saw him and called out to him. And boy, was Dad going to get a ribbing about being caught.

"You don't know of any cases he's working on?"

"None that would take him to your neighborhood, but that doesn't mean he's not doing one to keep his hand in. We're putting most of our effort into Mars for Sheriff, and thankfully because of Lynn's money we can afford to." In fact, he wasn't doing any detective work other than trying to track down more victims – I;d passed him the list once I was done with it – and now trying to help Alicia Fennel, and neither of them were full-pay jobs. I wasn't going to tell Wallace this, though.

"Okay. Just weird to see him out there."

Jackie showed up right then. She patted Wallace's butt, loudly announced to everyone present that he was "hers," and walked off with him, but since he didn't seem annoyed and she didn't take a shot at me, I shrugged and let it go.

He could do better, and she didn't like me, but as long as she didn't attack me, get him in trouble, and he was happy, hey, no skin off mine.

The day, with one exception, was routine. No one asked me to do any investigating, no one else came forward to accuse Woody Goodman, and I didn't find out anything about what the "none of my business" was from yesterday. Of course, I hadn't really expected to, considering the only source I had there was Wallace, and today, at least, Jackie was staying glued to his hip.

But the exception? Oh, just something trivial. You would have hardly noticed it, unless you were me.

It was lunch. I was eating with Logan, Duncan, Meg and Mac, while keeping an eye on Wallace, just in case.

"—right, Veronica?" Logan said, grabbing my arm suddenly.

I wasn't going to fall for this one. "Only if you do first," I said.

He blinked. "You realize that makes no sense."

"Better than that admitting I'm a bank robber, agreeing to skydive in my underwear, or whatever else you just tried to get me to agree to," I said.

"What're you looking at?" Mac asked.

"It's a case, actually," I said.

"Something to do with Wallace?" Meg asked.

"Yeah. And I can't say anything else."

"We wouldn't dream of asking you. Publicly," Mac said.

"Publicly or privately, I can't say anything – oh, crap."

"Crap?" Logan said. He was the only one facing roughly the same direction I was.

"Logan only: Look past Wallace, off to the right between 2 and 3, in the parking lot. Don't be obvious about it. Maybe two hundred feet out." We had a big parking lot. "Do you see anything?"

I made a point of looking down at my meal while Logan did as I asked. Duncan said, seriously, "Is this something we need to worry about?"

"I don't think so, but I'm not taking any chances," I said while munching a french fry. "Nothing you need to get up and muscle up over, unless things really go to hell. "Do you see what I see, Logan?"

"I think I do," he said calmly, "If you see a man in a grayish car in the middle of the parking lot who looks like he's watching someone over here intently. With binoculars. Which do seem to be pointed in Fennel's direction. I don't recognize the car."

"Okay," I said. "Meg, I'm camera-free. Do you have yours?"

Checking her purse, Meg said, "Yeah."

"Pass it around to me under the table. Then you and Duncan get up, say goodbye, and go get Clemmons." Clemmons would be as outraged by this as he was when reporters came after me after Beaver Casablancas' suicide last year.

"Got it," Meg said. A few seconds later Mac handed me the camera. "Okay. We'll go right to his office," she said. They got up, dumped their trash, and headed inside quickly, but not fast enough that anyone would have thought anything was up.

"Logan?" I saw when Meg and Duncan were almost gone.

"Yes, boss?"

"Get up and stand where I'd have a clear shot at the guy over your left shoulder. Then start posing."

"Posing?"

"Pretend you're Hulk Hogan," I said.

"Got it," he said. "Stupid behavior coming up."

"Do you want me to do anything?"

"Yeah. After I get a couple of shots of the guy, I'm going to hand you the camera. Get yourself good and lost inside. Get it back to Meg or Duncan inside and tell them to get it to my Dad, and what it is."

"Okay," she said.

Logan, in the meantime, had gotten up, and at my nod started going through ridiculous flexes – the kind that made Duncan's Schwarzenegger imitations seem like the work of an expert bodybuilder. I set myself up and took a couple of pictures of him, then readjusted the camera and took four or five shots over his left shoulder of the guy in the parking lot. It was a black male, skin a couple of shades darker than Wallace's, who looked to be Dad's age or maybe a bit younger. Dark hair. I couldn't tell his height, because he was sitting down in his car, but he didn't look ridiculously short, tall, skinny, or fat. The binoculars he was using were good quality.

Clemmons was stalking up the side parking lot with enough velocity and determination that I wouldn't have wanted to be either his target or in his way getting there.

So far the man in the car hadn't noticed Clemmons. Instead, he turned his gaze to look in our direction right as I refocused the camera on Logan for a couple of more pictures, and then said, "Thanks, sweetie!" loudly enough that people looked at me.

"No problem," he muttered as he stopped flexing.

Logan and I walked back to our table. I think the man had seen something, but before he could do more than put his binoculars, Clemmons caught up to him and knocked on his passenger side door.

I didn't get to see more than that. I put the camera down on our table as we passed, then picked up my stuff. Mac swept the camera up with her food and walked away, saying, "See you later," as she did.

"So, what do we do for the rest of the period?" Logan asked.

"Lean against the wall and watch the fireworks?"

"If my fireworks you mean Clemmons vs. the dude in the car, the show's over. The man took off thirty seconds after our esteemed vice principal knocked on his door."

"You were watching?" I said, nervously.

"Don't panic; a lot of people were. Clemmons in a rage is a sight to behold."

"True, that."

The show had one encore left to go, though.

Clemmons stood in the parking lot, apparently watching our intruder leave, then came directly towards the lunch area. He didn't seem angry any more, but when a couple of people looked like they were trying to leave, we heard his voice bellow, "Stay right there, Mr. Ferraro!" Fortunately, Mac was already out of the area.

"That man has a voice that can carry," Logan murmured.

"He should have been a stage actor," I said.

Mr. Ferraro froze in place – I would have – and everyone waited till Clemmons got there. He then said, "Gather 'round." He waited till everyone was paying attention, even the hackysack players. "None of you are in trouble. But did you all see the person I went out to talk to?"

"Hard to miss," someone from the back shouted.

"Well. If any of you see him, or that maroon Ford Escort he was driving, report it immediately. He had binoculars, he had a camera, and he was watching someone in this lunch area. Keep your eyes open, people. We don't want stalkers around here."

"What did he look like?" someone else asked.

"Huh?" Clemmons said. "Black – maybe 40 or so. In shape. Not the parent of a student." Which description fit hundreds of people in Neptune alone, including some teachers. There was a reason Clemmons was the vice principal and Dad and I were the detectives.

"Any more questions?" There were none. "Okay. Disperse. Veronica, hold on a second."

Everyone went their merry way but me, Logan, and Clemmons. "You too, Echolls," he said.

"Aye aye, captain," he said, squeezed my hand – the most we'd try to get away with when Clemmons was stand right there – and walked away.

That actually made me feel a little bit better, oddly enough. If we were going to get in trouble, we would have all gotten into trouble. "What is it?"

"I wanted to specifically task you with keeping an eye out for this guy," he said.

"Well, from that description –"

"I didn't want anyone else doing anything more than reporting in," Clemmons said. "I'll recognize the guy on sight. Here's what I saw." And he proceeded to give me a detailed description of the man, up to and including the fact that he had a mole on the back of his neck and one of his eyes was lighter than the other.

"Impressive," I said, and meant it.

"I genuinely consider it my job to know who belongs in this school, and who doesn't," he said. "It's not that common that someone who doesn't belong here comes during the school day, but we've had it happen. Pranksters from other schools. More seriously, people trying for a little custodial interference. A knack for describing helps." He snorted. "Even with Don Lamb. Speaking of, I need to go call him and let him know. Would you do this for me, Veronica?"

"I want a premium parking space for two full weeks," I said.

Clemmons raised an eyebrow. "I'm getting off cheap. Done."

We shook hands, and then I said, "If you'd pushed , I would have done it for free. Stalkers? Not really a good thing."

"No, they're not," he said. "Have a good day. Get to class."

I got.


	31. Norman Pfister

I got to Dad's office right as Meg and Duncan were leaving. "Thanks," I said.

"No problem," Duncan said. "Is someone stalking Wallace?"

"Could be," I said. "Clemmons actually asked me to keep an eye out around the school – paid me a premium parking space and everything."

"We'll keep our eyes open, too," Meg said. "I'd say this was fun, except -"

"I get you," I said. "And don't worry. Nothing wrong with enjoying yourself along the way, no matter how serious it is."

"I'm getting close," Meg said.

"How close?"

"After the election, close," she said.

"Okay. Sounds good to me. Want any more practice time, let me know."

"I will. But don't force it," she said. "Toodles, Ronniekins."

"Later, Maxie," I said, and headed in.

Dad said, "I assume you'll be wanting to keep the ones of Logan posing?"

"Oh, I already have ones of him in much better poses," I said.

"Disturbing to know."

"That's what daughters do. Now. The pics look helpful?"

"They should be," he said. "Now. Did you really go through all of that to take the pictures?"

"Better safe than sorry," I said.

"Do you think he noticed you?"

"I don't think so," I said. "I tried to be inconspicuous and passive, which is why I stopped after about thirty seconds or so. And I know he didn't see Meg or Duncan."

"Good. I thought I saw him this morning, but he took off after Wallace invited me in."

"Yeah. Isn't one of the points to being a detective that you not be noticed by the people you're surveilling?"

"I blame you," Dad said, though there was no rancor to it.

"You always do."

"Also," I said, "Vice Principal Clemmons got an excellent look at him when he threw the man off campus." I then told Dad everything Clemmons had told me. "You might want to call him and double check to make sure I didn't miss anything," I said.

"I will," Dad said. "But that's a suspiciously complete description. How did you come to hear it?"

"Oh. He told me when he hired me to keep an eye out for the man if he ever came back again."

"Veronica –" Dad said sharply.

"What was I supposed to do? Say no, I don't care if there's a stalker on campus? Clemmons knows me too well for me to pull that off. He asked me to do something I was going to do anyway, and he didn't ask me to put myself in any danger. Did you get anything from the photos?"

"You weren't at the right angle to see the license plate," Dad said. "There's no one matching his description who owns that kind of car who lives in the area, but there are several dozen in San Diego County. I'm working through them."

"Why do you think the guy's local?" I asked. "Wallace moved here around the beginning of the last school year. They came from Cleveland. I don't know if Wallace was born there." They moved across the country not long after Mr. Fennel died – a fresh start, or something like that. Could there have been something more to it?

It was entirely possible. But Wallace couldn't know and Alicia wouldn't talk to me—although she no longer thinks of me as a bad influence, at least, so that killed most of the easy outlets for figuring things out.

"Good point," Dad said, answering my question. "I'll ask her if she knows anyone from Cleveland – or anyone else in her past - who might be bugging her, right after I call Mr. Clemmons."

XXXXXXXXXX

Dad shrugged off my offers of online help and told me to go home - he'd pick me up later for a Keith Mars for Sheriff meeting scheduled for the Whitlock place at 7:00, and in the meantime, I was to do homework and not try to figure out who was stalking Wallace, how to get a leg up on Lamb in the election, or anything else that didn't have to do with either my homework or making dinner.

I showed him. Dinner was a frozen pizza.

He hadn't come up with any conclusions he was willing to talk with me about at any length, but he did compliment Clemmons on his powers of observation – "He even noticed that he had a copy of the Chicago tribune in the back seat."

"So you're thinking the stalker might be from Chicago?"

"It's a lead I'm going to pursue," he said.

I held up my hands. "Just want to know what's going on. Wallace is my friend, remember? It also seems like the guy in question is stalking him, not Alicia or Darrell, considering he showed up on school grounds. I'm not going to do anything but tell you or Clemmons –" unless the guy tries something, in which case all bets are off –"but the more I know, the better I can help."

Dads' response was to take a bite of pizza – his way of conceding the point without actually conceding the point. We finished the meal, cleaned up quickly, and drove to the Whitlocks' place.

The Whitlocks weren't quite as fanatical on the cause of animal rights as their daughter was, but the spread was strictly vegetarian and this time I had no one to talk to but adults, being the only person in the room under the age of 30. Arianna was working to save the loggerhead turtle – not a bad goal - and in any event wouldn't have wanted to have much to do with me or Dad anyway, known carnivores that we were.

There were actually more people at this fundraiser than there'd been at the previous one – although some of the people who'd been there the first time weren't there now. Alicia Fennel, for one, though she had a legitimate excuse.

A couple of people had dropped out – I found this out when I talked with Mr. MacKenzie. "Didn't want to have anything to do with anyone who had anything to do with that bastard," he said, "Pardon my French. But he fooled a lot of people – everyone on the council, your Dad, Lamb, and pretty much everyone in town, so if these folks are going to stay away from anyone who had anything to do with Lamb they're going to be hunting their own food and sending up smoke signals to talk to people because Goodman had his fingers in damn near everything – once again, pardon my French."

"No problem," I said. "I've heard the word before. And thanks for telling me; that kind of jibes with what I'd been hearing, too."

"Lamb's been handling the Goodman thing pretty good," MacKenzie said. "But you gotta expect even an idiot's going to be right once in a while. "

"It does happen," I said. Unfortunately for the prospect of Dad's election, it was helping Lamb in the runup, and while Dad's part wasn't being hidden, any bounce he was getting was nullified by the slight drop because of his association with Woody Goodman. It was still, unfortunately, too close to call, which only goes to show that people, on balance, are stupid.

Not that that's news, of course.

Archie Boudreau was there also, looking a bit worse for wear but giving everything he could towards prying more cash out of those wallets and coming up with ways to make Dad look good and Lamb look bad.

Right now we were going with the fact that despite Lamb's two recent notable successes – even if only the arrest of Woody Goodman actually redounded to his credit – crime had gone up in his time in office, except in the last couple of months, when one could clearly argue he was playing towards the election.

The billboard had had its run, and come down, and the video was still being shown of Lamb trying to personally cover it up. I recommended that that be the backdrop to the commercial. Play the stats; and finish off with, "Because this guy's the one in charge," and close on a picture of Lamb looking like a big doofus. (Or, as I like to call it, simply a picture of Don Lamb.)

Archie allowed as that was a good idea.

Lynn finished up the night with, "And we've finally managed to corner Don Lamb into a debate! It's going to be on all four major local channels next week!" – our 5th and 6th network affiliates were from elsewhere.

Applause, more money, and exeunt omnes, in various directions.

XXXXXXXXXXX

That night, when I got home, I baked Wallace some snickerdoodles before I went to bed.

Somehow, during the course of the day (a day in which I looked twice at every maroon car that drove by and saw exactly zero that seemed to be driven by the stalker), I neglected to give Wallace his cookies. Fortunately, I was only near him twice. The last time, just before final period, I snapped my fingers and said, "Shoot."

"Shoot?" Wallace asked, while Jackie muttered something I'm sure I would have had a devastating comeback to had I been paying any attention at all to anything she was saying.

"Yeah. I made you some more snickerdoodles."

His eyebrows raised. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion at all," I said. "Just because you're my BFF and every once in a while, darn it, you deserve cookies. Unfortunately, I left them in my car and I have to leave school right away. Can I just drop them off at your place later this afternoon?"

"Sure. I'll be home by 3:30 or so – that's when Darrell gets home."

I was counting on it. "See you then."

I cooled my heels with a slice of pizza and Logan, who did his best to torment me with thoughts of things he'd much rather be doing than distracting Wallace for me, but I gave as good as I got, and, long story short, by the time we got to Wallace's there were large parts of both us that only wanted to stay there about thirty seconds.

And had to stay at least twenty minutes or so.

As the philosopher said, Grr. Arg.

I knocked on the door, holding up a tin full of cookies.

Wallace opened the door. Logan was just getting out of the car behind me. "Hello," I said. "I'm Norman Pfister from Blush Beautiful Cosmetics. Can I interest you in a free sample of our product?"

Wallace looked confused, but invited me in. Logan, a minute or so later, said, "Can I use your bathroom?"

"'course," Wallace said. "Come on in." Logan sprinted past both of us and headed for the toilet.

Darrell was sitting and watching TV; Wallace had a book open on the kitchen table.

Wallace opened the tin. "You weren't kidding," he said.

"Would I ever kid you about snickerdoodles?"

"Better never had," he said. "Yo! Darrell! Come here and try one of Veronica's cookies!" He then shoved three in his mouth at once."

"No, thanks," Darrell said.

Logan called out from the back, "Hey, Wallace! Could I get some TP?"

That was Logan's distraction?

I need to train that boy better.

In the meantime, that left me alone with Darrell.

Okay. Time to try to manipulate a seven-year-old into telling me family secrets.

Just another day in the life.


	32. Fairly Odd Parents

No matter how it might seem sometimes, I do have my limits to what I'm willing to do to solve a case. I was just finding out that manipulating the 7-year-old brother of my best friend wasn't past those limits.

That said, I could at least credit myself with good motives here – I was trying to protect Wallace, not simply pick up some cash. I convinced myself that that was enough of a difference to make what I was doing the right thing.

But – "In all mankind's history, there has never been more damage done than by someone who though they were doing the right thing." I'd just have to do the best I could to make sure that didn't play out.

"How's it going, Darrell?" I asked as I walked over.

"Fine." He didn't sound overly engaged – well, he was watching Fairly Odd Parents. Who would be?

"Are you sure you don't want a snickerdoodle?"

"Don't like snickerdoodles," he said.

I sat down on the couch. "Your loss. Oooh, is this the one where the Crimson Chin comes out into the real world?"

"You watch Fairly Odd Parents?" he asked. "Wallace thinks it's stupid."

"Want to know a secret?" Darrell nodded his head. "Wallace likes the show. He's just teasing you."

"He does?"

"Yup."

"Is that guy in there your boyfriend?"

"He is," I said, "Wondering where he was going.

"You hitting that?"

I nearly fell off the couch. "That's – not really your business." I didn't quite remember Darrell as being so precocious, but maybe I just wasn't paying attention.

"Okay," he said.

"Now can I ask you a question?" I asked.

"Wait till the commercial."

"Okay." The segment was almost over.

We watched as Timmy and the Crimson Chin were triumphant and it went to commercial. "Can I ask you the question now?" I said.

"Yeah," he said, hitting mute.

"Where did you live before you came here?"

"Cleveland." He reached for the mute button.

"One more, okay?"

"Okay." He put the remote down.

"Why did you move?"

"Mommy wanted to," he said.

"Why did Mommy want to?"

"We were gonna stay after Daddy died but Mommy came home one day and said we had to move."

"Did she say why?"

"Change the sun ray."

"Sun ray?" I asked.

"There's a lot more sun out here."

True enough, but – that was it. Alicia Fennel had said, "Change of scenery."

"And she decided to move just like that?"

"Uh-huh. We were here in a few days. Show's back."

And so it was. It was only the end credits. "What's on next?"

"Another one."

"Hope it's another Crimson Chin."

"I want Mark Chang," he said.

Then, I heard Logan and Wallace loudly arguing sports as they came back to the living room. "She bothering you?" Wallace asked. Logan, it must be noted, was only a marginal sports fan. He had the same mild rooting interest in the Chargers that I had in the Padres.

"Naah. We were just talking."

"About what?" Wallace asked.

"Crimson Chin."

"Oh, that show," Wallace said.

"That show," I said. "That you like."

Wallace sputtered, "I do not."

"I remember you bringing up Backup maybe secretly being a fairy," I said.

"You remember that?"

"Word of wisdom, young Fennel," Logan said. "If you wish to keep Machiavelli over there from remembering something you say, don't say it. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law."

"Man, if you hadn't just made me snickerdoodles, I'd be seriously ticked right now," Wallace said. That his mouth was stuffed with cookies a second later kind of belied his words. "Anyway, thanks for the cookies."

I hit him on the shoulder. "Anytime, pal. And now that you have the cookies, I'll be on my merry way."

"And she does mean merry," Logan said.

Wallace waved goodbye. So did Darrell.

I sighed in relief when we got to the X-Terra. "Thanks," I said to Logan, giving him a quick kiss.

"No problem," he said. "And now, to get back to what we were doing before real life so rudely interrupted us –"

"I'm not sure we want to be sitting here when Alicia Fennel comes home. Nor am I interested in giving Wallace a free show."

"We could charge him," Logan said.

"You're sick, Echolls."

"So that's a no?"

"That's a 'not here," I said.

"Ooooh."

"I thought you'd like that."

Before we left, we did take a look around to see if the maroon car was anywhere in the vicinity. It didn't seem to be.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Lynn was out when we got to the Echolls Manse, the servants were all downstairs, and Trina, who'd been there earlier when Logan and I had tried to get some time to ourselves, was barred from the vicinity by court order.

I officially had the day off from Dad, who was spending most of the day trying to track down the Fennels' stalker.

That gave us a lovely upstairs all to ourselves for half an hour. And you will not hear the details. This is the story of Veronica Mars, Girl Detective, not Veronica Mars, Girl Porn Star.

We were done and downstairs by 5 PM, having a couple of turkey and Swiss sandwiches and a couple of sodas, when Lynn came in. "Veronica!" she said effusively. "Good to see you! How are you doing today?"

"Fine, Lynn," I said. "How about you? Any juicy parts?"

"Today mother was occupied with work neither political nor entertainment-related," Logan said.

"Nope! Remember that book I was talking about last year?"

"You were going to do the story of your life with Aaron, right?"

"Right. And it's got a publisher. And I control the film rights!"

"I believe a hearty hoorah is in order," Logan said. "Seriously, mother: Well done. I'm proud."

For one of the rare occasions in his life, Logan's voice contained not the slightest hint of sarcasm, sardonicism, or snark.

"Thank you, Logan."

"Terrific," I said, and meant it. "Bear in mind some people may consider you the next Christina Crawford."

"I don't care," she said. "Besides, every word in that book is going to be the truth." To Logan, then, she said seriously, "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"It's not something I will ever remember fondly," Logan said. "But yes, mother: go into as much detail as you feel you need to."

"I'll try not to need too much," Lynn said.

"That would be appreciated."

"Anyway, Logan, I thought we'd celebrate, if you're not doing anything else. Veronica? You're welcome to come too –"

And Lynn wouldn't make the offer if she wasn't absolutely sincere; but, much as a gourmet meal appealed, I had to get home and do some homework. "Raincheck? Thanks a lot, but I really can't midweek."

"Darn," she said. "Just you and me, then," she said to Logan.

"I wouldn't miss it. I need to take Veronica to her car, mother, but I'll be right back."

And that was that. I was home in 25 minutes, making a spaghetti dinner that, while tasty, was substantially less gourmet than whatever Lynn and Logan were eating.

Ah well. It'd be eaten with Dad. And Backup. Hard to beat that company.

While the water boiled, I thought about what Darrell had said. I hadn't gotten any confirmation that they'd moved because of the stalker, but it's fairly odd to abruptly change parts of the country that quickly. I doubted it was a casual whim, and Darrell had confirmed it had been his mother's decision. Could've been she was dodging her creditors, but there was no indication Alicia Fennel had changed her or her children's names.

In any event, there was least leeway there to ask a couple of questions. There was also a question I'd need to ask myself:

Did I tell Dad? And if so, how? This went well beyond the scope of passive countersurveillance.

I put the spaghetti into the pot. Of course I'd have to tell Dad. The object of the game was not "let's keep Veronica out of trouble," it's "Let's keep Wallace from getting stalked and kidnapped."

Still, I waited until Dad was halfway through his second plate before I brought it up. "Okay. I know better than to ask you to promise not to yell at me."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "We're having a good meal. Why do you want to ruin it?"

"That's why I waited till you were mostly just pushing noodles around the plate," I said, and told him what I'd learned.

"Really? You chose to investigate the client?" He said tightly.

I bit back a smartassed answer and said, "Yeah. I did. I thought I had reason, and I was right. This might not have anything to do with it, but it's worth looking into. I didn't get caught, I didn't expose myself, and I told you pretty much immediately so you can do what you want with it. Even if that's nothing. I don't think it should be nothing, though."

Dad said, "I found who the guy is. He's a drug dealer from Chicago. I can't find any connection to Alicia at all. That sounds like a pretty good reason to move, to me."

"Why would he be after Wallace?" I asked.

"That's the $64,000 question," he said, standing up, "And I'm going to go find out the answer. Clean up, do your homework, and no more interviewing anyone connected to this case. Got it?"

"Got it." I got that Dad was ticked, but I also got that he wasn't ticked at me – well, just at me.

I hoped Alicia was in the mood to provide answers, because Dad like this? Not in the mood not to get them.

He washed up and left. I began cleaning off the table.


	33. Countdown

Another mistake I made, but I did so deliberately: Carl aka Nathan apparently originally again decided to track Wallace down because he saw Alicia and Keith on vacation in Chicago. Since Alicia and Keith never quite got together here, that obviously never happened – yet here Carl is.

My glib explanation is that Alicia instead went to Chicago for a meeting dictated by Kane software, and Nathan aka Carl saw her then.

I wasn't not going to have Wallace's father attempt to reenter his life.

Also: The longest portion of this chapter is Keith telling Veronica what happened.

XXXXXXXX 

I did homework and kept my head down.

Checking online after I was done, I noticed that Richard Casablancas Sr. had been spotted in Guadalajara and that the Feds were trying to get the cooperation of the Mexican authorities before he split the country to somewhere without an extradition treaty.

Kendall, meanwhile, had been released on bail and was back living, temporarily, at the Casablancas household, though most of her stuff had already been confiscated.

Dick wasn't big enough to make the news.

Dad got home after only an hour and a half; he didn't look happy. "Would it be a good idea for me not to ask any questions?"

"No, you've already asked enough," Dad said.

XXXXXXXXXXX

I got there [Dad began] and asked Alicia if we could talk in private. We went back to her bedroom and the first thing I did was update her on the case.

The second thing I did was show her a picture of Carl Morgan – the man who'd been stalking Wallace, I don't remember if I told you – and asked her if she recognized him.

She said she didn't – but her eyes said something entirely different.

I didn't let her know I'd figured this out, of course. Instead I asked her why she'd moved away from Cleveland so abruptly.

"I didn't," she said, seemingly confused.

"Yeah. You did. I've checked. And the man in the picture? You've seen him before."

"Keith -"

"Alicia, I can't protect Wallace if you don't tell me the truth. So, you have thirty seconds to tell me what's going on or I'll give you your money back and you're on your own."

"Keith-" she _really_ didn't want to tell me about Carl Morgan.

"25, 24, 23 . . ."

"Okay!" she said.

Before she could say anything, Wallace came into the room. "What's going on?"

"It's not your business," Alicia said.

"13, 12, 11 . . ." I said.

"Really, Keith?"

"Really," I said. "7, 6 . . ."

"Okay," she said before I got to 5. "Can we at least wait till Wallace is out of the room?"

"Mom?" Wallace said. "What is this?"

"I can't tell you, honey," he said.

"And I'm working for her, so I can't," I said. "I'll tell you this: If it's something I think you should know, I'll tell her she should clue you in. Okay?"

"I guess that's the best I'm going to get," he said.

Once he was gone and the door was closed, we started speaking quietly. "Okay. Your thirty seconds are up. Who is Carl Morgan and what does he have to do with Wallace?"

"First off, his name's not Carl Morgan. That's his cover. His real name is Nathan Woods."

"His cover – he's a cop. Damn. I'm glad I haven't called Lamb yet." I was going to let the man know there was a known drug dealer in town. Good thing I didn't.

"Yeah." She took a deep breath. "And what she has to do with Wallace is – he's his father. I married him right out of high school. Not long after, he went undercover. And that's when the problems started. He stayed in character all the time. He used drugs. He stashed heroin and guns under our bed. And when I told him it was worrying me, he told me to shut up, that this could make his career and I just needed to ride it out. I – I couldn't, I just couldn't. I packed Wallace up and got out, and divorced him practically by mail, telling him I didn't want him to have anything to do with Wallace ever again. "

"Didn't he ask for visitation?"

She said bitterly, "One of the few times him being undercover helped. He couldn't spare the time to fight for it and I convinced the judge that things were bad enough that we needed to be clear of him now. It took him a while to track us down in Cleveland, but he did – and that's when we moved, and this time I tried not to tell anyone where I was going. I even had my mail forwarded to a PO Box in San Diego. Unfortunately, he saw me recently when I was in Chicago – Kane Software sent me and I couldn't exactly tell my employer no. He must have tracked me down from there. And now, here he is and you see why I don't want to tell Wallace. He thinks Hank Fennel was his father – no. Hank Fennel was his father. But –"

"I get why you're concerned," I said, "Really. But if he's shown up now, then he's either planning to kidnap Wallace or introduce himself. Either way, I think Wallace has a right to know, don't you?"

"I've been trying to protect him."

"And he'll understand that," I said, too soon.

"You know, I wish we'd –" and that part's not relevant.

[Oh, really, Dad? Why isn't it relevant? What could she have wished –

Oh. Oh, holy crap. But now wasn't the time.]

So we went out to talk to Wallace, who took it . . . not as well as I would have hoped.

"What?! So who the hell did we bury back in Cleveland, then?"

"Hank Fennel was your father. He legally adopted you."

"Hey, he was great. I'm not so sure about you right now."

"Wallace –" I said.

"This is what you were in there arguing about, isn't it? Whether to tell me someone's stalking me, which I think I'd have a right to know even if the person weren't my father! Right?"

"Right," I said. "And your mother made the right choice."

"Took her seventeen years. And – wait. If this is the guy who was in the parking lot yesterday, how did Veronica know to take a picture of him? Was she in on this too?"

"Was she?"

I said sharply, "Veronica only knew that someone might be watching someone in your family and to keep an eye out. That's it. I told her not to tell you anything about it. I didn't want her or you or anyone else confronting this guy until we knew who he was." So if he asks, tell him exactly that. Understood?

["Understood," I said.]

"I want to meet him," Wallace said.

"Honey –"

"I think by this point I've got the right to," he said. "Now, I can do it with you or without you. Okay?"

"Okay," Alicia said.

"I don't want you there, Mom," he said. "I'm not going to make you be around someone you don't want anything to do with. Mr. Mars?"

"Yes?"

"Could you help? Only you."

"Meaning not Veronica."

"I don't even want you to tell her. Okay?"

Alicia saved me from answering – and I'm pretty sure Wallace thinks I agreed not to, so let him bring it up, capisce?

["Capisce," I said.]

Anyway, she saved me from answering by saying that she understood and she trusted me.

"Can you track him down, Mr. Mars?" Wallace asked.

"Shouldn't be too hard."

"Okay. Call me tomorrow, tell me where. Right now, I got some homework to do." And he headed back to his room.

I left shortly afterwards, but Alicia did make me promise to protect Wallace. Thing is, the man's had his chances to abduct him if that was his intent, but I'll still be there if he decides to try anything. But what I think Alicia was asking me was to make sure that Wallace didn't say "to hell with it" and leave with the man then and there.

That, I'd be happy to do.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"And you," Dad said. "Are not to try to follow Wallace. I want you in the office after work doing office work. Got it?"

"Understood." Not that I'd planned on going, anyway. Wallace didn't want me there, I wouldn't go.

XXXXXXXX

The next day – Friday – Wallace actually didn't say anything, though he was clearly upset all day. He snapped at me, but he also snapped at Jackie, one of his fellow basketball players, and a random freshman, so I took the hint that he didn't want to talk to anyone, and backed off.

I had lunch with Meg and Duncan. Wallace was sitting with Jackie, but neither of them looked all that happy, and he rebuffed all of her attempts at conversation.

Dad called me between periods later in the day to let me know he'd found Nathan Woods at his hotel, and that the meeting was set – and that he'd tell me what he could later.

After school, I waited till Wallace left; Meg and Duncan followed him out, and then I headed for the office.

Half an hour later, while sending a not-so-polite reminder letter to a client who hadn't paid their bill, I got a call from Meg.

Who was watching Wallace, Dad, and Nathan Woods meet.

Hey, I promised not to follow them. I never promised not to send someone else to do it for me.

"Hey," I said. "What's up?"

"You might want to get down here."

"Why?"

"Lamb just showed up and he's trying to leave with your father."

"I'll be right there."

What the hell?


	34. Pretty Little Liar

"Tell me what's happening," I said as I sprinted for the car.

"I'm over here on Breaker by the Croissant Creations Café," Meg said. Not a place a lot of students tended to congregate; Breaker was the main adult '09er shopping avenue in Neptune. It was about five minutes away. "By the time I parked, Wallace was already sitting down with Keith. A few minutes later a guy got out of a car maybe a few down from me – I don't think he saw me – and walked over to where your Dad and Wallace were sitting. He and Wallace awkwardly shook hands and everyone sat back down. He started talking and gesturing, pointing at your Dad; at one point he gave the "get out" gesture to your Dad, who didn't go anywhere. Wallace then said something that calmed everyone down, and they talked for a few minutes – until our beloved Sheriff pulled up in his car down the block and walked straight for the café. I waited to see if maybe he was just there to get a ham and Swiss, but he started talking to your Dad and also telling him to go; Wallace got upset, the guy I don't know got upset, and that's when I called you."

I was already halfway there. "Any open parking spots?"

"Only close to Lamb," she said. "There's a gourmet grocery around the block with their own lot, though. Your father still hasn't gone anywhere."

And they'd probably have a sign saying "parking for customers only," but it was a risk I was going to have to take. I had enough to buy something from in there on me if I needed to, though most of that stuff? Not really my style.

Dad's still being there – instead of getting hustled off - meant that Lamb wasn't trying to arrest him, just trying to get him to move along . If there was anyone in Neptune less likely to get Dad to move along than Don Lamb, with the possible exception of Vinnie Van Lowe, I didn't know who they were.

I drove around the block – didn't want Wallace, Dad, or Deputy Lamb to see my car – and left my car at the back end of The Natural Marketplace parking lot. Then I walked around the corner to see what was going on.

Meg gestured me into her car, and I hustled over and jumped into the back seat. Meg handed me a pair of binoculars while she took pictures – "In case something happens," she said, and God bless her for thinking about it.

The argument was still going on. Nathan Woods was sitting back with a smirk on his face, Dad looked exasperated, and Lamb actually looked like he was coming to realize he'd stepped in it. For him? An expression he was used to.

A server came out to talk to everyone, but Lamb showed his badge and the man backed away.

Thirty seconds after that, Wallace stood up, whistled so loudly I could hear it half a block away, and said something, then stormed off.

Nathan Woods grabbed his arm, but Wallace jerked free and kept going. Nathan then turned around and yelled at Dad, who said something, and then he walked away also.

Lamb followed Dad and said something to him; Dad listened, nodded, and headed for his car. Lamb went back to talk to Woods.

I had to go; the flow of traffic on the block was toward me and Meg.

"Stay down," Meg said, and pulled around the corner into the Natural Market lot; she and I then quickly walked inside.

"Hey!" The clerk said. "That your LeBaron out there? I was just about to call the cops!"

Meg answered, "Ohmygosh, I'm so sorry, I just saw Ronniekins pull around and I just had to talk to her and I called her over, and she told me she had to go but I just couldn't let her go, so this is all my fault, and do you guys have any organic grapes?" I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Meg in full blown airhead mode was a sight to behold.

"Um," the clerk said. "Yeah. "Produce is aisle 4."

"Thanks! Come on, Ronniekins!"

Bemused, I followed her.

XXXXXXX

Meg ended up getting about a pound of grapes, and I ended up with a 6-pack of Blue Sky ginger ale for the low low price of $3.79.

We peered around the corner, but none of the four participants in the conversation were anywhere nearby.

"This is getting fun again," she said when she got into her car. "I'll follow you back just in case." Then we returned to the office.

Dad had beaten me there, and he wasn't happy, at me or anything. "Where were you?" he asked. "I told you to stay here/"

Meg said, "Sorry, Mr. Mars. That was my fault. A lizard got into my car and I needed someone to help me get it out."

"A lizard?" he asked. "what kind?"

"How should I know?" I asked. "I'm not a naturalist. It was maybe 8 inches long, brown and it had stripes." I'm not a nature kind of girl. I don't dislike creatures, and I'm not afraid of anything that can't eat me or poison me, but once you get beyond the basics like "snake," "lizard," etc I don't really know a whole heck of a lot.

"You're afraid of lizards?"

"Weird, huh?" Meg said. "I don't mind snakes, spiders, or scorpions, but lizards creep me right out."

He took a breath. "Okay. Next time I tell you to be here and you have to leave, call, okay, sweetie?"

The 'sweetie' meant I was off the hook. "I will."

"I was going to keep you company but I see you've got that covered," Meg said. "So I'll just go home. Thanks, Veronica."

"Anytime."

As she walked out I could hear her muttering to herself, "Only for good. Only for good. Only for good . . ."

Meg had just fooled Dad. Off the top of her head. Without breaking a sweat.

She was already so pretty and sweet and innocent she'd get away with murder if the Pope and the Dalai Lama were hostile witnesses. Add that to this? If she weren't so nice a person, she could be very dangerous. She might have been the best natural liar I'd ever met.

"So," I asked Dad as I sat down at the receptionist's desk. "How was your day?"

"I'm not in the mood," he said, though he wasn't snapping at me.

"Yeah, I could tell things hadn't exactly gone according to plan. What happened?"

And he told me a story like Meg's, only with some dialogue. Woods hadn't been happy he was there, but didn't say anything till Lamb showed up; before that the conversation was awkward, but it went well. Woods had told Wallace that he'd sent him letters – letters that Wallace never got.

And that's when Lamb showed up. Woods had used the fact that they were both cops and convinced him that Dad had kind of muscled his way in and that his interference wasn't wanted. Lamb had jumped at the chance, showed up and tried to browbeat Dad into leaving, and only realized Dad was wanted there when Wallace told him as much.

Woods was unhappy apparently that Lamb didn't simply drag Dad off, but Lamb apparently was smart enough to realize that browbeating was one thing, but a physical altercation with his rival, even in Neptune where a lot of the media was on his side, was something else entirely. At this point he realized he'd been sold a bill of goods and started getting angry with Woods, and that's when Wallace stormed off.

Lamb had tried to apologize as Dad was leaving, but Dad wasn't having any of it.

"Wow," I said when he was done. "That was pretty much the opposite of a roaring success."

"I don't know who to be more pissed at, Lamb or Woods," Dad said. "But right now I need to find Wallace. He didn't go straight home. Alicia left work early to go look."

"Do you want help?" I said, seriously. "I can round up a posse like that." I snapped my fingers.

"Yeah. Good idea. I'll go back and talk to Alicia while you do that."

In short order I called Mac, Meg, Duncan, Logan, and Weevil, all of whom said they'd help as much as they could. "And if you see the man Clemmons confronted," I said, "Stay back. He wasn't happy, last Dad heard."

This was Weevil I was talking to, who said, "Don't worry, V; I try to stay out of cops' ways even when they're from a couple thousand miles from their home turf. Want me to ring in my boys?"

"How many of them can you trust?" I asked.

"Not damn enough. I'll call a few and let 'em know."

"Thanks."

Dad came back out. "Alicia mentioned a few places – but I'm going to start at Nathan Woods' hotel room and go from there."

"I got my posse out," I said. "I've got an idea myself. I'll let you know if I'm wrong. And don't let Woods goad you into anything. You don't want to give him an actual excuse to call Lamb."

"Don was so annoyed when he left I don't think he'd response to one of Woods' calls if the man said he was being murdered," Dad said, "Still, I get your point."

"Good. I'll let you know if I find anything."

We left. Dad went one way, I went the other.

Straight to a place I wasn't particularly happy about going, but which only made sense.

I parked my car, walked up and knocked on the front door.

It opened. The look on the face of the resident quickly turned into a deep scowl.

"Hi, Jackie," I said.


	35. True Friends

"Veronica. What the hell are you doing here?"

I bit back a smartassed response and said, "Why do you think? I certainly didn't come to see you."

"You're looking for Wallace," she said. "Well, he's not here."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No. And I wouldn't tell you if I did." She moved to shut the door. I stuck my foot in. "Don't think I won't cut that off," she said.

"Give me thirty seconds," I said, then kept going like she'd given them to me. "Did Wallace talk to you at all today?"

"About what?"

"About anything. You saw how he was. He was ripping people's heads off. And you've known him long enough that Wallace Fennel isn't a jerk and he isn't prone to yelling at people for no reason. And you're the only one he spent any time with today."

"Yeah. I was. What's the issue?"

"The issue is, he got some unsettling news yesterday. He was supposed to meet someone today – and he did – and it didn't go nearly as well as planned, and he stormed off and no one's heard from him since. He didn't go home, he didn't come here, and I haven't seen him anywhere else."

"When was this meeting?"

I checked. "Broke up a bit over an hour ago."

"And you want to know where he is? Holy shit, Veronica, does everyone have to report where they are to you at all times? Wallace is a grown man. He can take of himself."

"Four things. One, I'm not driving this, his mother and my Dad are. Two, if everything had gone well, I wouldn't care where he was. Three, if we find him and he's just shooting hoops or walking on the beach or something, then more power to him, I tell him to call his Mom, and walk away. No skin off mine. Four, screw you. I came here because I thought you might actually give a crap about Wallace when he was having trouble. Since you're not, I'll just go off and make sure he's okay myself. Just don't ever pretend you give a crap again."

I turned around and started walking back to my car.

"Veronica –" she said.

"Yes?"

"Look. I don't know where he is. I can't think of anywhere else he might go you didn't think of, unless he went back to the school. You've actually known him longer; who does he trust? If I see him, I'll tell him to call his mother. Good enough?"

Good enough? Hell no. But it was probably the best I was going to get out of her. So, to avoid completely burning the bridge, I said, "Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

She shut the door then without saying goodbye, and I got in the car and drove off.

I called around. Duncan was closest to the school and agreed to head back there to see if he was maybe playing some ball.

I headed to the convenience store Wallace had worked at when I first met him – nope, he wasn't there.

I checked out a couple of other places and was looking at a third when I got a call from Mac. She'd found him.

Where he was? Surprised me. Though maybe it shouldn't have.

"Who does he trust?" Jackie'd asked, and son of a bitch if she hadn't been right.

Mac was waiting for me across the street. "You didn't connect?" I asked.

"Where he is? I didn't think I was the right person. He came here looking for someone."

Where were we?

In his time of worst emotional crisis, when things were going to hell, Wallace Fennel . . .

Had come to see me.

I was across the street from my own apartment.

"Thanks," I said. "Drive away and give everyone else a call, okay?"

"Aye-aye," she said.

"And Mac? Good job."

"Of course," she said, grinning.

I pulled into our parking lot and got out. Behind me, Mac drove off.

Wallace came directly over and put his hand on my shoulder before I even got the LeBaron's door closed. "Can we talk?" he said.

"Seems like you need to," I said. "Come on in."

Backup trotted over when I walked in. I scritched him and quickly fed him, apologized for not being able to take him for the walk he so richly deserved for being the nicest and best dog on the planet, and sat down at the kitchen table across from Wallace.

"I need the truth," he said.

"You've got it," he said.

"Tell me everything you know. No holding back."

I'd made promises to Dad not to.

Those promises didn't hold up. My BFF needed me.

I told him everything dad, or I, had done. I skimmed over Megs' and the other's parts in it, and Wallace didn't really seem to care, and I finished off with my visit to Jackie. "Doesn't surprise me," he said. ""She'd have helped if I'd asked, but comforting isn't really one of her skill sets. Jackie's got a lot of good qualities but she's not warm and fuzzy." No kidding.

"I know, and I'm a marshmallow, which is why you're here and not there," I said, not wanting to get into a fight over Jackie at this point. "Anyway, not long after that I got a call, and then I came home and found you sitting on my front porch like a puppy."

"Hey, I'm no puppy. I'm the big dog around here."

"Now there's the Fennel sense of humor ," I said. "But? Look behind you."

Backup was staring at us.

A laugh, an actual laugh, came out of Wallace's mouth. It was short, and the good mood only lasted a few seconds, but by God, he laughed.

Then the sadness returned. "What do I do?" she asked.

"I wouldn't begin to try to tell you."

"You're not willing to tell someone what to do?"

"Not with something like this, no. And it really needs to be your decision. But if you want my advice –"

"I do," he said.

"Your Mom lied to you to protect you."

"She intercepted letters she sent," he said.

"I'm not saying I would have done what she did," I said. "But as long as you thought Hank Fennel was your dad she was kind of committed to the story. Letting him communicate with you would have changed everything."

"I don't think she ever would have told me," he said.

"Neither do I."

"You get why I'm so ticked at her?" he asked.

"I do. I think she did it with good intentions, but, 'In all of mankind's history, there has never been more damage done than by someone who thought they were doing the right thing.' You've got a right to be upset. But you asked for my advice and I'm giving it: Don't blame her forever. She wasn't trying to be mean, screw you over, or make money. She thought the man wasn't a good guy, and she knew Hank Fennel was."

"That might take some time."

"Not saying it shouldn't," I said.

"And Nathan Woods?"

"Well, the guy tried to have Dad hauled off, so I'm not inclined to like him all that much," I said.

"Does he get any credit for good intentions?"

I said, "Let me ask you: Did you want my Dad there?"

"Yeah. I invited him, didn't I?"

"So what were his good intentions?"

Wallace said, "He wanted to talk to me in private?"

I shook my head. "That's a reason, not a good intention. Good intentions would be if he though you didn't want Dad there. Maybe he thought he could speak more freely if Dad wasn't there, but that doesn't really count either. I know there was nothing you wouldn't have been willing to say."

"Pretty much," he said. "So are you saying you wouldn't trust the guy if you were me?"

"I'm saying I don't trust the guy because I'm me," I said. "If you want to give him a chance, it's your call."

"Hmmmm."

And right the front door opened and Dad walked in, followed immediately by Alicia Fennel.

"Wallace!" she yelled, and came over and hugged him.

Pulling clear after a few seconds – not a rebuff, but not full acceptance, either – he said, "What's all this for? It's not like I was gone for days or anything."

"Well, you did kind of storm off," Dad said.

"Can you blame me?" Wallace asked.

"No. Not at all," Dad said. "But when you didn't go anywhere -"

"I came here," Wallace said. "I needed to talk to someone who'd tell me the truth."

"And you came to Veronica?" Ms. Fennel asked.

"It's hard not to take that as an insult," I said.

"You know what I mean," she said. "It's not like you've always been completely truthful."

To deny that would have been a blatant lie, so I said, "Wallace trusted me not to BS him. I didn't. And I won't."

"And, Mom, it's not like you've been telling me the truth for the last 17 years," Wallace said. "Look. If you're worried I;m going to run off with the man, forget it. But I might like to get to know him. Maybe today was a fluke. Mr. Mars?"

"Yes?"

"Investigate Nathan Woods for me. Find out everything you can about him. I know what kind of man he was; I want to know the kind of man he's become. He's not off to a good start, but like I said, maybe today was a fluke. Do that?"

"Sure. He might object, though."

"Tell him if he puts any roadblocks in your way he's got no chance of ever seeing Wallace again," I said. "That should get him to go along with it."

Dad raised his eyebrows. "Good idea."

"Hey, I come up with one once in a while," I said.

"Are you coming home?" Ms. Fennel asked.

"Where else would I go?" Wallace said. "Just – let me deal with this my way, okay?"

She breathed a sigh of relief, but it was the sigh of relief of someone who knew that the immediate fighting might be over, but not the battle. "Okay. Sounds good.

Wallace came over and gave me a full-fledged hug. "Thanks for the truth."

"_Always_," I said.

They left.

"The truth?" Dad asked.

"The truth," I said. "He needed it."

Dad nodded. "Okay. What do you want for dinner?"


	36. A Goodman Goes to War

I've been waiting to use this episode title since the beginning of the story, too.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Over the weekend, somehow, mysteriously, pictures of Don Lamb harassing Dad and Nathan Brooks at the Croissant Creations Cafe appeared on line – Wallace's face was never seen. When Lamb called to complain, Dad said, "First I've heard of them," and then came directly to me.

"Not mine," I said. "My camera's better than that." Of course, I knew they were Meg's, but Dad never asked me if I knew who'd taken them, and I never told volunteered the information.

"True."

But pictures of Don Lamb harassing his opponent brought Dad's numbers up a bit and Lamb's numbers down. They were still within the margin of error, but it was a much wider margin.

Archie Boudreau was thrilled by it – he needed it, because a still jailed Woody Goodman – no judge in their right mind was going to grant bail on eleven counts of child molestation – was suing him through his current attorney for breach of contract. None of which actually stopped him from continuing to advise Dad.

Trina popped her head up again. She republished some of Meg's pictures and said, "See, people? I told you Lamb was no good. So why didn't you believe me? I'm Trina Echolls, and I approve this message, too, even if my lawyer asked me not to." Said lawyer must have been tearing out her hair, if she had any left by this point.

Monday at school, Wallace was better. He clearly wasn't fine, but he wasn't biting the heads off of anyone who walked near him, either.

The school day? Bumpy as always. The worst bump happened in the morning. Between classes, I was talking with Duncan about a photo or two he needed for the next Navigator when we rounded the corner and found a group of people harassing Gia Goodman.

Gia was almost the only person still speaking up for her father – the only one who wasn't his attorney, at any rate. She clearly loved her father.

There was a parallel here to Trina. Except Trina was pathetic, but thought she was awesome. Gia?

Gia was pitiable, and I really don't mean that to be nasty. Unlike Trina, she wasn't really built for the role of public defender. Which was good, in that she wasn't a psychopath, but bad, in that she was clearly a few straws away from getting her back snapped.

"What the hell are you doing here?" a girl asked, knocking her pack from her hands. "You stupid or something?"

"She's gotta be a moron to think her Dad's not the biggest perv since Aaron Echolls," a boy said.

"Or maybe," a familiar voice said, "She was in on it with him." The evil grin Madison Sinclair flashed made it clear she was "just kidding" if anyone called her on it. Always ready to pick on the less fortunate, that's our Madison.

I shook my head. "Unbelievable."

"Are you about to get involved?" Duncan said.

"You need to ask?"

"No. I really don't."

I marched up to the tumult – by this time, someone had pulled the stunt of knocking Gia's books from her hands – and said, with mock cheerfulness, "Hi! I didn't know this was where the ultimate asshole contest was being held –" I stopped and focused on Madison. "Never mind. We already have a winner."

"Look, losers sticking together," Madison said.

"Like you and Dick Casablancas?" I asked.

Her expression went from smug to outraged.. Before she could squawk in protest, though, I turned around and said, "The rest of you? Can't say I'm surprised. Neptune specializes in kicking people while they're down. Back the hell off, now, and quit listening to people like Madison Sinclair. You go down, she'll be first in line wielding her steel-toed boots."

"You're defending her?" One of the boys said. "Your dad got her Dad in jail."

"Yeah. Her dad. Not her. Unless you think we should all be blamed for the sins of our parents. Hey, Micki," I said, talking to Micki Ferrara, a sophomore. "Isn't your Dad in jail for armed robbery? Aaron?" (Aaron Lewis, junior). "Didn't your Mom work for Big Dick Casablancas? Are you both crooks?"

"Don't talk about my Dad," Micki said, angrily.

"Don't talk about her Dad," I said. "Now get out."

"What she said," A voice came from behind me. It was Clemmons. "Disperse."

Everyone left. "Miss Mars, Miss Goodman, Miss Sinclair, my office, now."

Duncan headed off, promising to tell Ms. Stafford I was going to be late, and the rest of us went to the office. Clemmons took Gia in first, which left me and Madison out there. Madison tried to glare at me, but at this point? A glare from Madison Sinclair affects me about as much as a ball of cotton thrown at my head. I ignored it and began reading my English assignment.

Five minutes later Clemmons left his office, saying, "Miss Goodman will be staying here until someone can come pick her up. Miss Mars?" Gia sat down as far away in the room as she could possibly be from Madison and not be clinging to the wall.

I went into his office. "You're not blaming Gia –"

"Of course not," he said. "But her being here isn't going to work. That wasn't the first incident I just broke up. That wasn't even the third. People have been giving her a hard time ever since she walked into the building in the morning. And since I can't throw out hundreds of people –"

"Why not?" I asked.

"I unfortunately have to send her home. It stinks. I know it stinks. But she's not being punished."

"Well, she's not doing anything wrong and now she has to go home and her tormentors get away with it. Seems like a punishment to me."

"Her tormentors aren't going to get away with it," he said. "Did you see Ms. Sinclair out there? Anyway, Ms. Goodman asked to go home."

"Well, if that's all it takes, can I go home?" I asked.

He snorted. "No. You're not being tormented the way she is."

Extending my hand, I said, "Hi. I'm Veronica Mars. People trashed me for months after my Dad lost his job. And you are?"

"The sarcasm isn't helping."

"It's helping me fine," I said. "Look, if Gia asked to go home, then that's fine. But don't pretend she's the first person who's been tormented around here by their classmates."

" – Okay," he said. "Now. Have you seen anything more about our stalker?"

Right. I'd momentarily forgotten that he was "paying" me to keep an eye out for the guy who turned out to have been Nathan Woods. "Yeah. Dad figured out who he is – with my help - and he shouldn't be back here, at least not skulking around. He might be here openly."

"Who was he?"

Clemmons wasn't paying me for that. "I'll talk with my Dad and see if I can tell you. Otherwise, it's not my secret to give out. But I can guarantee you he won't be seen here spying on anyone again."

"Fair enough," he said, standing up and walking towards his office door. I opened it and stepped through, and he said, "Ms. Sinclair? Your turn."

I made a wide step to the right and elaborately gestured for Madison to go around me. She did so with ill grace and the door closed behind her.

Is it wrong for me to hope that the only way she leaves is in a package bound for Abu Dhabi?

Gia came up and hugged me. Wow. Two hugs in two days, not from my father or my boyfriend. I was going to have to start rebuilding my rep around here or people would start thinking I'd gotten soft.

"Thank you," she said.

"Of course," I said in return. "No one should have to go through this kind of shit."

"Can I talk to you if I need someone to talk to? I mena, I know your Dad is one of the ones who is kind of accusing my Dad and he's wrong but that doesn't mean we can't be friends, right?"

"Right," I said., and headed off for the rest of my day. 

XXXXXXXXXXX

That evening, I got a visitor. Dad was back at his office, gathering up information on Nathan Woods.

It was Gia.

"Veronica," she said. "I need your help."

"I – probably shouldn't give you any," I said. "I'm okay with talking to you, but helping you might be pushing it."

"Please," she said. "This doesn't have anything to do with what my father's accused of. Okay, well, it does, but not directly, and he's not involved at all and I really need someone to help me and it's not like a lot of people are talking to me right now without saying mean things."

"Okay," I said. "Come in. It won't hurt to listen to you."

Gia and I went back to my room, where she plopped down on the bed without an invite. "Okay," she said. "Here's the thing: You know what you ran into at school, where people were knocking my books down and taunting me? Well, that's just the tip of the iceberg, unfortunately."

"What do you mean?"

"Let me show you." She pulled a laptop computer out of her pack. "Look at this."

This was an email – one of a few dozen I could see that were threatening. This one, though . . . .

It was a graphic, in more ways than one. Pictures of Gia and her father, lying on the ground, with blood spilling out of their necks, and a message telling Gia specifically that she'd better never come back to Neptune High again or this was what was waiting for her.

"Bad, but –" I started.

"Oh no. It gets better. The next one's the reason I came to you."

She opened up another one from about an hour ago. This was a video.

It showed three people wearing Halloween masks and trenchcoats. They were standing in the halls of Neptune High.

"That's my locker they're standing in front of," she said.

One of them took a crowbar and pried it open. Another one started taking stuff from inside the locker. Then two of them capped this off by, um, urinating all over the inside. They took half the stuff and dumped it back in.

The rest of it, they carried outside to the dining area.

Where they burned it all. Most of it, at once – books, papers, etc.

But the photos of her mother, her father, and her brother?

They burned while holding them up to the camera and saying, in deliberately deep voices, "This is a war. And this you if you come back."

The video ended.

"Did you call the Sheriff?"

"Lamb answered it himself and hung up on me," she said. "Veronica: Will you help?"

"Yeah. Let's go to war."


	37. Steady On

Gia left a bit later. I kept the laptop with Gia's blessing, then promptly forwarded every single threatening email from the last few days – a number which well passed triple digits - to Mac, after warning her, and basically saying money was no object in finding out who'd sent the two really nasty ones.

Dad came in at 9 or so. "At this point I think I know everything to be known about Nathan Woods. Including things I never wanted to know. What's that smell?"

Gia? Prone to strong perfumes. Not that she drenched herself in them, but her scent was distinctive. I hadn't bothered covering it up because Dad would have smelled the lack of smell.

"Gia Goodman dropped by," I said. I'd told him what had happened when he swung home for dinner. "Just needed a sympathetic ear. In case I haven't mentioned it recently, people can be assholes."

He came over and hugged me and said, "Not everyone."

"No. Not everyone. Too many. But there are a few good people out there."

He, of course, would always be the number one example of that.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

I beelined straight from my car the next morning, blew past Duncan, Meg and Weevil on the way in, and went straight to Clemmons' office."

He was wiping sweat off his forehead. When I came in, he said, "Veronica, whatever it is, can it wait? I've just been dealing with -"

"Someone trashing Gia Goodman's locker?"

"Yeah. Needed about a gallon of disinfectant and everyone within ten feet had to move. The lockers are _not _waterproof." Stopping and looking at me suspiciously, he said, "How did you know?"

"Look at this." I yanked Gia's laptop out of my pack and showed him the video.

After he watched, his fists clenched in anger and he said, "I don't suppose you've figured out who they are?"

"Not yet," I said. "But I'm working on it. And don't bother waiting for assistance from our beloved Sheriff." I explained what had happened when Gia called.

"There's a reason I'm backing your father. I'll pay you, this time," he said. "None of this stuff about bartering with a parking spot. I'll give you cold cash. How much do you want?"

Clemmons was pissed. (Okay, maybe the wrong word to use, under the circumstances.) I could have probably held him up for a few hundred, but all I said was, "I already have a client, in this case: Gia Goodman. But what you can do is give me free rein to do what I need to do to figure it out."

"You have it," he said. "I'm not exactly going to stand around myself."

"One thing you can get for me: This was clearly done last night. Could I get a list of the people who were supposed to be on school grounds past, say, 5 PM?

"I'll have someone send it out to you," he said.

"And if I need to talk to anyone?"

"I'll call them here and hand them over to you," he said.

"Thanks. Can I investigate during study hall?"

"Whatever you need, Veronica," he said. "But I'd appreciate it if you didn't push it and try to be funny. I'm not really in a funny mood."

"Understood." Truth be told, I wasn't feeling very wacky myself. Death threats, even if they likely weren't genuine death threats, tended to strip away my sense of humor.

From there I went to homeroom – alphabetical, so Mac was there – and asked her if she'd found anything.

Unfortunately, she shook her head. "They used a generic email account and used a public computer to send it. Most I can do so far is tell you where that public computer was."

"Where?"

"The South Neptune branch of the public library."

"Okay. You'll keep looking, though."

"Of course. Just because they sent their death threats under an alias doesn't mean they didn't also threaten Gia under their own name. Could you have her send me every threat she's gotten?"

"I think so," I said.

"That might help."

Okay. Public library after school. Contact Gia between classes.

In the meantime, there were a few people I could talk to directly, during study hall: The three people I remembered taunting Gia from yesterday.

Micki Ferrara, Aaron Lewis, and, and everyone's favorite contemptible bitch, Madison Sinclair.

XXXXXXX

Study hall rolled around later in the morning. I'd quietly explained to everyone in my radius what was going on, and they all agreed to keep their eyes open. Weevil didn't think Gia should've been at school and thought she should've expected to be given a hard time – "not that they guys who did this weren't jerks, V, but when your Dad's done what her Dad did, it ain't like you should expect to be welcomed back with open arms." Still, even he thought there was a difference between namecalling and threatening someone's family, and he agreed to keep his ears open.

When the study hall bell rang, I was in Clemmons' office, asking him to summon the three people I'd mentioned to the office. He also handed me the list directly. Monday night? There'd been a lot of people in after hours.

I got Micki Ferrara first. When she saw me sitting in the conference room, her face twisted up in a dirty look. "They called me in to talk to you?" in the tone of voice that made it sound like they'd invited her to hop into a cage with a hungry mountain lion.

"Hey, you're getting out of class," I said. "Quit complaining."

"I'd rather be in computer class than talk to you."

"Well, then, sucks to be you, doesn't it? Anyway, I assume, by this point, you've heard of what happened to Gia Goodman's stuff last night."

"Yeah." I stayed quiet. "Wait. And this is because you think I did it?"

"No, but you could have," I said.

"You want me to strip?"

Where had that come from? "Of course not."

"It would have been kind of hard of me to pee all over her stuff. See, I'm a girl. I don't have a penis."

Were this Encyclopedia Brown, or even Law and Order, I'd have been able to pound my fist on the table and yell "aha! We never told you someone peed in her locker!" Unfortunately, the rumor mill was in full operation, and while no one had the details right, the peeing? Pretty common knowledge.

"I'll take you at your word," I said. "But that doesn't mean you couldn't have been the other one."

"I was at an afterschool computer class till 7," Mikki said. "It's at Neptune community college. Got there at 5:30, stayed till 7:30."

If true, this means she probably wasn't involved. When our junior-grade terrorists came outside, the sky was definitely dimming a bit – it certainly wasn't 5:30. Besides, there would have been too many people there at 5:30. A quick look at the list had shown several teachers, custodians, a play rehearsal, newspaper work and football practice going on then. By 7:30, most of those were out of the building.

"Okay. See how easy that was?" I said. "Thanks for your time."

"You do realize no one cares about Gia Goodman, right? No one's going to give a crap if you find out who did this after what her family did to – those kids." Those kids? Nice hesitation there, Mikki. You're related to or friends with one of his victims. Which explains you being pissed at Woody. But not Gia.

"Gia will, I will, and I'm pretty sure Clemmons will," I said. "And Gia might not do anything but you really don't want to tick off me or the vice principal." I grinned a phony grin. "Have a good day."

I followed her into the office and asked one of the school receptionists if she had a phone book, just in case the Neptune Community center was three blocks away.

Nope. It was down in the southern part of the city. A good 15-minute drive from the high school. Which pretty much killed the idea that Mikki had been part of it. Gia'd gotten the threatening video at 7:48 – and the video itself was 10 minutes long. So, assuming Mikki wasn't flat-out lying, and I would check, I'd have to look elsewhere.

I'd also have to look past Aaron Lewis. He'd been at football practice yesterday afternoon and had fractured his collarbone while going for a tackle. He wouldn't even be back in school for a while.

So, while waiting for my third appointment, I watched the video again to see if I'd missed anything.

They wore gloves, long pants, trenchcoats, and facemasks, but from time to time the skin on their necks or ankles was visible. Based on that, I'd tentatively peg two of them as white and one of them as Hispanic. They were all somewhere between 5'6" and 6' tall. No basketball players and no one built like me. Also, none of them were overly heavy-set, either, though their exact frames were hidden by the coats. Thank goodness the camera was steady –

Huh.

The camera was steady. It never moved until one of them picked it up. It was far too stable to have been in the hands of a person.

That was a normal hall and nothing in the video showed them as having set up any kind of stand or tripod, and I would have seen it as they broke for the outside. They'd put the camera in one of the opposing lockers. I'd need to have it looked at for pry marks.

The one voice was clearly male, and someone disguising his voice.

Okay. Good. I was getting somewhere.

Right then my last interview of the study hall wandered in.

I grinned. "Hi, Madison," I said. "Come on in." I gestured to the conference room.

"No, thanks," she said, like I'd just invited her to jump into a bottomless pit. And to be fair, I'd done exactly that a number of times. "I'm here to talk to someone looking into what happened to Gia's locker." I waved my right hand. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Nope. And if you want that time off detention you were promised, you'll come in, be cooperative, and answer every question I ask you. Completely."

With a look on her face that said she'd take that bottomless pit if it were in front of her, she walked into the conference room, saying, "You're enjoying this way too much."

"There's no such thing as enjoying this way too much," I replied. "Shall we begin?"


	38. The Libby Chessler School

Madison sat down. "I know why I'm here. And if you think I had anything to do with what happened last night, you're even crazier than I thought you were, Veronica Mars," she said. Truth be told, the trip to the dentist she'd given me at Shelly Pomroy's party was about as gross as I thought Madison would ever get – peeing in someone's locker would be far too declasse for the princess she apparently actually thought she was – but that didn't mean she didn't know something.

"Do I think you whipped it out and urinated in her locker? No. Do I think you might know something? Sure I do. You're Madison Sinclair and you did what you always do. You saw someone down, and you kicked them. Now. Do you know anything about this?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed, "no." Like it should have been obvious to any fool.

"Let's try again," I said. "And this time, I'm pointing out that rolling your eyes isn't exactly being cooperative. What do you know?"

"The only thing I know is that you're barking up the wrong tree. Yeah, I made fun of poor little Gia yesterday, but I was hardly the only one. And I wouldn't dream of getting involved in something like this. Honestly, Veronica. That's too much effort and there's the chance I might actually get in trouble. Colleges don't like to admit people who run around acting like terrorists, you know."

College? Madison Sinclair was thinking about going to college? Either she was going to study at the Libby Chessler School for Advanced Bitchery, or it was true what they said and money really could buy anything.

"That's assuming you thought you would be caught," I said.

"I didn't think about it at all, because I didn't do it," she said.

"Okay, then," I said, "Assuming what you say is true—" and I more or less believed her – "What have you heard? What's the story? Assume I've never heard it. And assume I'll be the one telling Clemmons how cooperative you're being, and don't jerk me around."

She sighed again but refrained from rolling her eyes. "Last night, three boys came in, trashed Gia's locker and peed all over her stuff. Then they burned most of the rest of it outside. They've got the people next to Gia's locker really ticked at them because they had to move too."

"Three people?" I asked. "Who told you that?"

"Who do you think? Who's in charge of gossip around here?"

"Carrie Bishop."

"Carrie Bishop. Though you'd probably get along with her right now, Veronica; she's ticked off that someone would do this, too. But who cares? Really? Her dad's a perv and she's a freak."

"And you were coming so close to being cooperative," I said. "Ah well."

And finally something I said got through to her. "You have to get me out before the homecoming dance," she said. "Look. If I find out anything else, I'll tell you, okay? But I have to be there."

That's right. People who were on detention couldn't attend school functions. "Depends on what you get me," I said. "But you come through, I'll do what I can."

"Deal," she said. "We done?"

"We done," I said.

She left. A few minutes later, Clemmons came in. "Did you learn anything?"

"It wasn't Micki and it probably wasn't Madison, but I got a couple of leads. Can you find out who has the lockers across from Gia's?"

"I can have that for you by lunchtime. Why?" I explained my reasoning. "Okay. I'll also have the custodian take a look to see if someone pried those lockers open too."

"Good. Was Miss Sinclair cooperative and civil?"

"Expecting civil out of Madison towards me is like expecting Lex Luthor to say nice things about Superman. As for cooperative, let's just go with "not proven." I'll let you know when that changes."

"Fair enough." The bell rang. "And you might want to get along to your next class."

And off I went.

XXXXXXXXX

Lunchtime rolled around soon enough. I gulped down my food and started making rounds. I noticed a few people watching me, pointing, and whispering.

I ignored it and went straight to Carrie Bishop, who was sitting with her friend Susan Knight – the same one she acted as a stalking horse for when it came to Mr. Rooks. I plopped myself down and said, "this seat taken?"

"Veronica," Carrie said. "What do you want?"

"Your help. With what happened to Gia's locker."

"What's your angle?" she said, eyes narrowed. "Your Dad helped get her father arrested."

"Her father. Not her. And while thinking her Dad's innocent and/or being framed might be extreme denial, it doesn't mean she had anything to do with it. And she shouldn't be attacked for it, either."

"Really?"

"Really. Gia hired me herself to look into it. Call her and ask."

And damn if she didn't do exactly that, while I watched. Susan and I stared at each other for a couple of minutes while Carrie talked with Gia, which left me wishing I'd brought something to eat to pass the time, because Susan, while she wasn't looking at me hostilely, also wasn't looking at me as though I were anything more than a spot on the wall.

Carrie hung up and said, to me and Susan, "Gia confirmed it. Which is good. Because I like Gia and think she's getting screwed here – by Clemmons, by her dad, and by those assholes who pissed in her locked and threatened her family. If you were part of any of it –"

Hold it. "I wouldn't be," I said.

"You wouldn't be, intentionally," Carrie said. "doesn't mean you might not be on the wrong side by mistake." A Mr. Rooks reference. Lovely.

"The good guys won that one," I said. "Water under the bridge. Now. How did you know she was being threatened? Because that's not exactly public news." None of the stories I'd heard had mentioned the threats.

"Because they sent me a copy of the video, too," she said with a disgusted tone in her voice. "With instructions to 'pass it around.' I guess they were assuming I liked gossiping so much that I wouldn't care about someone threatening to kill one of my friends."

"And they were wrong."

"Damn right they were," she said.

"Okay. Could you forward it to Mac?"

She nodded her head. "Sure. Why not?" Maybe Mac would be able to pry something out of this one that she hadn't pried out of the one that'd been sent to Gia. I doubted it, but it couldn't hurt.

"Can you think of anything else?"

"Marcos – you know, that Marcos –" there was more than one in the school, so she was talking about Woody Goodman's victim Marcos Oliveres – "he's been acting weird all day. Maybe it's nothing, but –"

"Okay. Keep your ears open."

Carrie nodded. "Anything interesting, I'll shoot your way. I think we're on the same side in this."

"We are," I said. Then, to Susan, I said, "Listen, it's been nice sitting here, but you really have to let someone else talk every once in a while."

Susan smiled faintly. Finally, a reaction. She said, "I've been told that." And nothing else.

XXXXXXXXXXX

From there, I went to the office. Clemmons' secretary handed me the three people who had the lockers most nearly opposite Gia's. They belonged to three juniors: Alicia O'Dell, Derrick Ogden –

and Marcos Oliveres.

I'm thinking this? Not a coincidence.

I made a mental note to talk to Marcos the next time I got the chance. He hadn't been one of the three people in the video – he didn't have the right build. But nervousness plus steady camera plus locker placement equaled, at the very least, a good reason for me and him to have a chat.

I got about two more minutes in the lunch area – just enough time to brief Logan and Duncan as to what was going on – and headed off to class.

Along the way, my phone rang.

"Veronica Mars?" I heard a disguised voice say. "Stop looking into who's going after Gia Goodman. If you know what's good for you." A hangup. Return number blocked.

Well, isn't _someone_ being melodramatic.

And really: When have I ever known what's good for me?

I mean, honestly.


	39. A Trip to the Library

I wasn't able to track down Marcos for the rest of the day. Meg said she'd seen him, but he dodged out of sight as soon as possible.

He was deliberately lying low. Catching up to him might require either a stakeout or a summons from Clemmons.

I didn't get any more threats, though I did share the one I got with my friends. "How seriously are you taking this?" Logan asked.

"Seriously enough to let you all know. Not seriously enough that I actually think they're going to do anything." Remember how a while back I said that I wasn't quite as good a judge of character as I thought? Keep that in mind. "Did you hear anything?"

"Not beyond the normal run of rumors. Whoever did this isn't bragging."

"Keep your ear out for anyone who mentions that Gia was threatened," I said. "That's not common knowledge yet, because the two people they sent the video to aren't spreading it around."

"Are you sure you can trust Carrie Bishop?" he said quietly.

"A hundred percent? No. But while she and I don't like each other, I don't actually think she's malicious, like Madison, or a vacuous moron, like Shelly Pomroy. She was willing to put herself through the wringer to stick up for Susan and get rid of Mr. Rooks. That scores her points, for me. I think we're on the same side in this. Do you have any reason to think different?"

"No," he said. "Assuming we discount her being the local gossip queen."

"I don't, completely, but I think there's a difference between being willing to spread rumors and being willing to be a psychopath."

"Okay."

I'd told all of them that at the moment I was specifically looking for Marcos, and they all agreed to call me if they saw him. Talking to him would need a more delicate touch than talking to Madison or Mikki Ferrara. They were bystanders. He was a victim. Being an asshole to him, publicly – particularly on behalf of anyone connected with Woody Goodman, even his innocent daughter – would cause more problems than it might solve.

In the meantime, Logan, Mac and I were headed to the South Neptune branch of the county public library.

The section of town it was in was the same as the kind Dad and I lived in worked in: Definitely not '09er territory, and it showed. One suspected the North Neptune branch, closer to '09er turf, was in much better condition. (I blush to admit that I'm not a regular habitue of libraries. I read, and sometimes I even read for fun, but not often enough that a library card ever seemed a necessity.)

Not that the area was a crime-ridden hellhole, or anything; it was just in a run-down building, in a parking lot with lights with missing bulbs, and a public restroom you'd rather not use if you had any other choice. It also wasn't the only occupant of the building; there was a directory inside, though since the library occupied most of the first floor we didn't need to look at it to know where we were going.

We scouted out the room. "The sign-up book over by the computers at the information desk," Mac said.

"Ah. Such wisdom, MacKenzie. Is this why you came along?"

"Hey, how often have you been in this building?" she asked. Logan didn't answer, so she went on, "Yeah. Thought so. I come here several times a year. I know the place better than either of you. I know you have to sign in. I also know they leave the sign-up book out where anyone can read through it."

"Okay," I said. "I'll sign up and browse through the book. Maybe you can provide a distraction?

"Heart attack in the middle of the floor?" she said. "Want me to whip out a weapon and starting making threats?"

"Nothing that'll clear the building or bring in large angry people with sirens," I muttered. "Just ask for some help on something."

"I'll signal you when I'm ready," she said.

Logan and I browsed the magazines until Mac nodded to us. As she approached the desk, he and I walked around it from opposite sides and found the sign-in book.

The thing wasn't secure at all and I seemed to be limited in how far I could go back only by the amount of pages the binder could physically hold. The sign nearby said that use was limited to half an hour at a time and that proper ID was required; the threat to Gia had been sent at about 7:35 last night. (Gia pretty much saw it and made a beeline for me, because she was over here by quarter after 8.

The sign-in sheet staggered so that computers became available every fifteen minutes, so I was looking to see anyone who'd signed up for a time between 7 and 7:30 last night.

Twelve computers, nine working cones, nine signatures over two pages. I looked them over and started cussing.

One of the 7:30 sign-ins was "Gia Goodman." And if it was actually her, I was Steve Finley.

Well, that killed subtlety. I gave a throat-cutting gesture to Mac, who wound up her question and walked off to the bookshelves. It old Logan to keep himself amused, and he wandered towards the nearby children's section and picked up a copy of Archie.

Good woman, Mac, keeping up the illusion. I'd have to pay her a little extra this time around for going above and beyond. I took the binder around to where the librarian was standing – irritating the person behind me who was ready to sign up. "Cool your jets," I said. "This won't take long."

"Better not," he said.

'Hi, Mary," I said to the librarian. "I have a question."

"You get half an hour, we can cut you off if you try to go beyond, and please try not to access porn sites, we'd hate to throw you out." She said this mechanically. Clearly this wasn't even the thousandth time she's said it.

"Nice to know, but I don't actually want to sign up," I said. "I was wondering if you remembered this person." I pointed to Gia's name.

"I'm, not going to talk about one patron to another," she said.

"Okay. I see by the sign back there that proper ID is required to sign up."

"That's right."

"Thing is, I happen to know that this young woman was at home last night at 7:30. And there's not two people with that name in or anywhere near Neptune." Bluff, but likely a true one. Goodman wasn't an uncommon last name, but Gia? Not in the top 500 in first names, I was willing to bet. "So the person who came in and showed you her ID claiming to be Gia Goodman wasn't Gia Goodman. Two ways that goes down. Either you took a fake ID, or you didn't bother checking her ID. Which one is it?"

Mary gave me a very dirty look, but said, "Hold on," and went beneath the counter. A few seconds later she came up holding a locked file box in her hand. Not secure enough to hold off someone determined, but secure enough to keep out the riffraff. "We make copies of all the IDs," she said. "And hold them for a week in case there's any problems. And . . . aha. Here's Ms. Goodman's."

She showed me a photocopy of a driver's license with a picture of a woman who looked nothing like Gia Goodman. Unfortunately, black and white and a crappy photocopier meant I couldn't clearly see who it was, either – beyond "female" and "probably not with blonde hair." She wasn't Gia, though, that was clear.

When I took out my camera she tried to snatch the paper back. I said, "That's not Gia Goodman. And I'm trying to find out who it actually is."

"One moment," she said, and drew a marker across the driver's license number. "Now you can take a picture."

Cursing to myself – I understood exactly why she'd done it, but having the number might have been helpful – I took a couple of shots and said, "Do you remember what the faker looked like?"

"A lot of people come in and out," she said. "Sorry, I can't."

"Thanks, anyway," I said.

I wrote what I remembered of the driver's license number down – it started with B-813 - and we left.

On the way out, Mac stopped to pick up a catalog of some sort. "What's that?" I asked.

"College catalog," she said.

I had a hunch and went over and picked up one myself.

"Neptune Community College," it read.

I went over and looked at the directory.

The Neptune Community College was on the second and third floors of this very building.

"What've you got?" Logan asked.

"Another reason to talk to Mikki Ferrara," I said.

XXXXXXXX

Logan took us back to the Neptune High parking lot. As we entered, I heard a loud whistle, looked up and saw someone running away.

"What was that?" Mac asked.

"I'm not sure . . ." I said.

Logan pulled up next to the LeBaron.

Which was once again covered in graffiti, this time not concerning my slut-hood but my interfering nature.

"Back off, Bit -"

"We seem to have interrupted something," I said.

"Yeah," Logan said. "Want to check your locker?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea," I said.

Mac stayed outside, while Logan and I went in and looked at my locker.

Trashed. Of course.

"And with that lovely scent of urine," Logan said. "Always adds a festive touch, don't you think?" Despite the words, Logan was as ticked as I am.

I never kept anything necessary in my locker; I'd dropped my schoolbooks off in my car when I left, and fortunately, they hadn't broken in there. Still, I might be better off carrying my things for a while.

Despite all of it, despite knowing I'd now have to call in Dad, I smiled.

"What about this has you smiling?" Logan said.

"Because now I know they're consistent," I said. "And that? That's where they screwed up. And that's how I'll catch them."

"I thought you'd say they screwed up by making you mad," he said.

"Nope. Now I might take a particular pleasure in doing so, but I was already going to find out who they were. This was stupid, and gratuitous. All these idiots are doing is showing off."

"So you're not pissed?" Logan asked innocently.

"You had to go there, didn't you?"

"I gotta be me."


	40. Exit Laughing

I took out my phone. "Calling your father?" Logan asked.

"No," I said. "Mac? Has anyone come tearing out of the parking lot since we went in?"

"I moved my car near the exit. No one's left—and no one's gone offroad, either, at least not where I could see them."

Which meant that the graffiti artists were either hiding and waiting, or they, like their lookout, had fled on foot.

Ideally, I'd stick around to see who snuck back in an hour to collect their cars, but under the circumstances? I really couldn't.

"Thanks. Keep your eyes open."

"While I'm driving? Always."

Then Logan and I walked down to the office. No one was there. I sighed and called Clemmons' home number. "Is your Dad there?" I asked Butters when he answered the phone. Soon Clemmons was on and he said, "What is it, Veronica?"

"Gia's locker, round two. This time, my locker."

He sighed. "One of the few times I actually get home before dinner. Of course I should have expected this. I'm coming."

Then came the waiting.

Clemmons got there in about fifteen minutes. He looked at the mess and somehow managed to refrain from swearing. How, I have no idea. "Did they film it?" were the first words out of his mouth.

"No idea. I caught them in the middle of doing something to my car. I'll check my email when I get home."

He walked off to track down whatever custodians were left in the building, and from the tone in his voice I couldn't tell whether he was going to tear them a new one for not having seen this, or just get them to clean it up.

I took a couple of pictures with my camera and examined the scene, in case they'd left anything lying around cluing me in to who they were. No such luck. Logan looked at it too with an equal lack of luck.

Clemmons came up to me and said, "Tell me what happened." I told him what I could. "Don't suppose you got a good look at the person who was running away."

"I was saving it for my dramatic reveal," I said with a trace of sarcasm.

"A simple no would suffice."

"How long have you known me?"

He sighed. "The custodians were over in the gym. If there's anything in there you want to try to save –"

"One suspects, not anymore," Logan said.

"I learned a while back not to leave anything important in my locker," I said. "This is probably going tick off the people on either side of me more than it does me."

"This can't continue," he said.

"It won't," I said. "I have an idea."

"Am I going to like this idea?"

"I don't know," I said, and explained it. When I was done he said, "Well, I don't hate it. You think she'll cooperate?"

"I do," I said.

"Okay," he said. "I'll let you try it. Let's see if this foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of their little minds." My look apparently must have been more confused than I intended, because he said next, "Ralph Waldo Emerson. I used to be an English teacher."

"Ah." I'd heard the line, actually, but couldn't place it.

"Are you okay getting home? Is your car drivable?" he asked.

"I can get it to somewhere where they'll clean it off," I said.

"Okay. Thanks."

We left. I thanked Mac, dropped my car off at a nearby garage (one that specialized in body work and who I'd done a favor a while back) and Logan drove me home.

Now came the fun part: Telling Dad.

XXXXXXXXXX

You may wonder why I was bothering with the fun part. The answer? One, Dad would wonder why Logan was dropping me off when I'd driven to school myself, and two, as much of an eye as he was keeping on the Goodman case he had to have heard something about what had happened at school yesterday by now. So I figured a little pre-emptive honesty now was the best tactic.

I didn't have time. Dad was rushing out the door when I got there. "Sorry, sweetie. Tuna salad's in the fridge. See you in a couple of hours."

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Debate practice," he said. "Remember? Big sheriff's debate? Tomorrow night? You're going to be there?"

Hoping I was keeping my wince of shame internal, I said, "With bells on."

"As long as you only ring them when Lamb's talking," he said.

And then was gone.

First thing I did was dart back to my room and check my email. I hadn't gotten anything yet, which means either they didn't film this one – and I was willing to bet they had – or we'd interrupted them before they could send off the video and they were waiting till they went to ground.

Anyway. Nothing to do there but wait.

I ate dinner and was zipping through some homework when Wallace called. "Your dad there?"

"Off practicing to debate Don Lamb," I said.

"So he's arguing with a pumpkin?"

"Don't insult pumpkins," I said, laughing. "What's goin' down, BFF?"

"I wanted to thank him. He got me a report after school about Nathan."

"And?"

Audibly, Wallace took a deep breath. "I think I'd like to get to know the man. Apparently he did have some issues when he and Mom were together way back when, but he seems to have straightened up his act – not counting that stunt he pulled with Lamb, of course. He wants me to come live with him."

"And . . . "

"And I said no, but I'd be happy to visit him, talk to him, write some email, etc. I hate that Mom lied, but the info your Dad got made it pretty clear that Mom leaving him in the first place was the right choice. Besides, I'm the star of the Neptune High basketball team. What would they do without me?"

"Suck!" I said in a valley girl voice – still totally sincerely, of course.

"Damn right," he said. "Anyway, I thanked your Dad once but I wanted to make sure I did it right this time."

"I'll pass on the message," I said.

When Wallace was off I spent another twenty minutes or so finishing up my homework – light night, thank goodness – and then placed my second call of the night.

"Hello?"

"It's Veronica. I need a favor." I explained what I wanted, and got my way.

"Fair enough," I said.

Dad came home an hour or so later, while I was watching TV. "How's it go?" he asked.

"I'm going to kick his ass," he said.

"Damn right you are. Hey, two things. One, Wallace called. He wanted to thank you again for what you did for him, his mom, and Nathan Woods."

"I'll call him back," he said. "And two?"

"Yeah," I said. "Two. Did you hear what happened at school yesterday?"

"If you didn't tell me, no," he said. "I've been swamped." His eyes narrowed. "What happened at school?"

And so I gave him the summary. "I suppose if I told you not to try whatever it is you're going to try tomorrow you'd ignore me?"

"At this point, yeah," I said. "I've invested too much into this."

"And if I decided tomorrow would be a great day for you to take a trip to visit some long-lost relatives?"

"I'd say that it'd have to be a quick trip if you wanted me at your debate," I said. "Look. Do you get why I don't think these people are actually dangerous?"

"Of course. They've never directly interacted with Gia, you, or anyone else, and after threatening you their response was to do the same thing to you and trash your car. They didn't confront you or hurt you despite their threats. They didn't even slash your tires. Where is your car, by the way?"

"Body shop. No big deal; they should have it done tomorrow."

"I'll tell you this, though," he said. "If you don''t figure it out tomorrow, we're going to find some other way of dealing with it."

"How?" I asked. "Gia asked me, Clemmons knows I'm doing it, and there's no one I can hand it off to. And, Dad: _Lamb hung up on her_. The way he laughed at me when I reported my rape."

"This isn't on the same level as rape," Dad said, like that was something I needed to hear.

"It's the same principle," I said.

Dad said, "Yeah. It is. Okay. We'll find some other way of going about it that doesn't involve you not trying to help her. Deal?"

"Deal," I said.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day, I quietly filled everyone in. Everyone but Meg said they could help. Meg had to go straight home, unfortunately, for a family dinner followed by a night at church, but Duncan, Logan, Wallace, Mac and Weevil were available for emergency action.

Parenthetically, I also nominated Wallace for homecoming king. Between you and me and the lamppost, I'm pretty sure he's going to win.

Between first and second period, Susan Knight smashed into me in the hall, and sneered, "Excuse me."

At lunch, after my interviews with Mikki and Marcos, Meg came up to me and said, a bit loudly, "Did you know Carrie Bishop's turned finding Gia's vandals into a competition?"

"Oh, she has, has she?" I said, and stormed over to her table, yelling at her. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she said. "I'm finding out who destroyed Gia's locker _and_ I'm proving I'm better than you. Really. You thought I'd work with _you_?"

"Gia hired me," I said.

"And I'm going to show her why she wasted her money. Now get out of my face."

I left the lunch area, clearly upset, then headed to my "office -"

before I started laughing.

All that? A set-up.

But you knew that, right?


	41. With a Monotonous Languor

Let's rewind a bit, first to last night's conversation: I'd called Carrie Bishop, of course. My proposal?

That she make herself the next target. They'd gotten Gia and they'd gotten me, so we were going to see if they were going to try to make it three for three.

"I don't know, Veronica," she said. "It seems a little dramatic to me."

"Which might help sell it," I said. "Who'd think we're working together? You and me, we're not friends. Who'd think we were on the same side?"

"Do you think it'll work?"

"I think it might," I said.

She sighed. "Okay. I'll go along with it. But you're paying for any damages."

"Of course. Take out anything crucial from your locker, just in case. They didn't notice that I didn't keep much of anything in mine, and they probably won't notice yours, either, as long as you're not obvious about it."

Then I'd called Gia, to keep her up to speed. "Carrie's willing to do that?" she said when I was done.

"She's been sticking up for you," I said.

"Thank her for me, because that's just so incredibly nice of her and while I like Carrie and I thought she liked me I think I figured she was just doing what almost everyone was else was doing and blowing me off and I'm glad she's not, you know?"

"I know." I said. Anyway. Just thought you'd like that."

"I do. And thanks, Veronica. I don't know why all those people say those mean things about you. I really don't. Goodbye."

From most other people at Neptune High? That would have been a shot. From Gia? It's the literal truth, no more, no less.

The next day, Susan wasn't bumping into me to be a poopiehead; she was bumping into me to slip me a note. A bit blatantly obvious for your average spy, but our audience wasn't exactly full of sophisticates, here.

The note just read, "We're set." Okay, so it wasn't "The long sob of autumn's violins wound my heart with a monotonous languor," but it didn't need to be. All she was saying was that Carrie was carrying out the plan, telling everyone that she was going to figure out who'd done this to Gia, and that she was pissed, and that she was going to show me up in the process. Not quite the motivation it had used to be for some – the events of last year had made me not quite the massive outcast I'd been – but still, it definitely drove some people.

Then came study hall. I went directly to the office and told Clemmons of my plan. This was the last and most crucial part. I could have done this without him, but for something like this we needed authority backing us up, and everyone knew Principal Moorehead's nickname should have been Principal Figurehead. The one thing he did better than Clemmons was suck up to the school board. (He wasn't a bad guy; he wasn't Don Lamb, or anything. He just wasn't very good at his job. He was in over his head, not malicious.)

Clemmons, though, was in for a penny, in for a pound. "I'm doing paperwork today, anyway," he said. "Just call me when you need me."

In the meantime, Marcos Oliveres had finally run out of excuses. While he looked like he'd rather be almost anywhere else, he was sitting across from me in the conference room. I'd already decided to play Marcos differently from most of the other people I brought in. Marcos was genuinely going through a lot of shit and I wanted to add to that as little as possible.

"Do you know why you're here, Marcos?" I asked.

"N-no," he stuttered.

Of course, while I wanted to give him as little grief as possible, that didn't mean I was going to let him get away with BS'ing me, either. "Of course you do. You spent most of the day yesterday running away from me and all of my friends. If we were a gang I could understand that. We're not. Well, apart from Weevil Navarro. So. You were running away because you knew I wanted to talk to you. And you knew I wanted to talk to you because your locker's directly across from Gia's. And you ran away because you had something to run away from. The two people on either side of you? Saw them all day. And all morning. They had nothing to run from, because they hadn't done anything. So. Do you want me to tell you what I think happened, or do you want to tell me what happened?"

"You tell me," he said.

"I think someone came up to you and said they wanted to play a prank on Gia and wanted to film it, and wanted to use your locked to put the camera down so the picture wouldn't be shaky. You've got a reason not to like the Goodman family. Not that Gia's guilty of anything more than believing her father, but seeing her stick up for him probably bugged you. And Marcos, I'm telling you this true: I don't blame you. It would bug me too. Gia's clearly a step out of touch with reality, here, because Woody Goodman did what you say he did. I have no doubt about that. You believe me there, right?" I was telling about 90 percent truth. I understood him being upset by Gia's sticking up for her father, but it was a completely understandable reaction on her part. She loved her father. If he blamed her, that was a step too far.

He nodded. "I do," he said.

"Good. Now. I also don't think you think it was going to go as far as it did, because honestly, I don't think you're an asshole, and I think the people who did this are assholes. So. Did you agree to let the 'pranksters' use your locker?" Nothing for a while, but finally he nodded yes.

"Good. Who are they?" With any luck, instead of needing to go through this thing with Carrie, we could just round these people up and have them in Clemmons' office in fifteen minutes.

And now he shook his head. "I'm not telling."

"Really?"

"Really. I might not like what they've done but I'm no snitch."

"I can't believe you of all people would downgrade the benefits of telling on someone," I said. I wasn't going to make it obvious unless I had to.

No matter; he still got where I was going, and acted like I'd just hit him in the face with a hammer. "Not the same thing," he said. "Not at all."

"Not the same level," I said. "But it's damn sure the same thing."

"I'm not telling you," he said.

"Stay here," I said, and walked out of the conference room and into Clemmons' office. "This stinks," I said when I was done.

"You're telling me," he said.

"So what are you going to do?"

"What do you think? Send him in here. I'll give him a chance to tell me, and then I'll suspend him. I'll hate having to do it, but I will."

"Yeah." I went back and told Marcos that Clemmons wanted to see him, then took Mikki Ferrara back into the conference room.

"I told you everything I could tell you yesterday," she said, defiantly, when she sat down.

"Okay," I said. "First thing I need you to is sign this form." I pushed a piece of paper over to her.

"Why?"

"It basically excuses you from the class you're in," I said. "One day we can call you out without one. Two days and we need you to sign a form." This was complete crap, of course, but Clemmons had happily printed one out for me while I'd talked about the thing I was doing with Carrie Bishop.

I took it and put it to one side. "Thanks. Okay. So. Monday night, you were at a computer class at the Neptune Community College, right?"

"Right," she said.

""Down in south Neptune, right?"

":Right . . ." she said.

"In the same building the South Neptune branch of the county library's in, I think, right?"

Mikki nodded. "Right. Two couple of floors."

"Okay. You might be interested to know that the person who sent the email to Gia? The threat? Sent it from that library. Probably not by coincidence, she sent it maybe ten minutes after the computer class broke up – and that the information desk librarian has ID'd you as having signed in at around that time." The last part, total bluff, of course.

"She couldn't – I mean, I didn't go into the library. I went straight home."

"Easy enough to find out." I pulled out my cell phone and called home. The machine picked up on the third ring and I said, "Hey, Dad? Yeah, I know. Do me a favor. There's a student here named Michelle Ferrara. Could you call her parents and see what time she got home Monday night? Thanks." I hung up and said, "And then there's this." I pulled out first the sheet she'd just signed, and then my photocopy of the library sign-in sheet from the previous night.

I flipped both around so they were facing Mikki. "Now," I said. "See how the loop in this F matches exactly the loop in the G? And see how the swirl under each signature is similar? And how the a's are a nearly perfect match? This is you, Mikki. You got an email from our merry band of terrorists Monday night with a video of them desecrating Gia's locker and you shot it back out to both her and Carrie Bishop. Now, you might not have actually committed the crime, but you were sure as hell part of it."

She took a deep breath and said, "Yeah. You caught me. Bitch's father raped my older brother Dave."

"I didn't see his name anywhere –"

"He killed himself two years ago," she said tightly. "he mentioned why in the note. He never mentioned who, but when Marcos and Peter and everyone else started coming forward last month it wasn't too hard to figure out."

"Okay. So why blame Gia?"

"Because I was getting sick and tired of her talking' up her Dad like he was completely innocent and Peter and Marcos were a bunch of liars. She had to know that people out there weren't buying the bullshit she was trying to sell."

"So the answer isn't to say she's wrong, it's to threaten her and pee in her locker?" I shook my head. "Never mind. Who were you working with?"

"I don't know," she said. My skepticism must have been obvious, because she said, ":Really. They contacted me online. Never seen them." I kept staring so she said, "Honestly!"

I wasn't sure I believed her, but I had nothing left to bluff with. "What was the email address?" I asked. She wrote it down. Hotmail account, of course, but maybe Mac could do something with it.

Then I left and took the confession to Clemmons. "Can you do anything to her?" I asked. "Nothing she did was technically on school grounds." 

"Yeah, but she's an accomplice," he said. "That's good enough for me."

"What happened to Marcos?"

"He wouldn't talk to me, either. He's suspended. Three days, or until he tells me who his accomplices are, or his parents convince me he shouldn't anymore. I hate to say this like it's a good thing, but the Oliveres's don't have the pull to get me overridden."

"I wish no one did."

"Wait, we agree on that?"

"Well, except for my Dad," I said.

"Get out of here," he said.

I got.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Lunchtime, you know; Carrie and I followed the script, though it was scripted like a wrestling match was: Generally, rather than specifically.

Marcos and Mikki's absence was noted and logged. Carrie, in a burst of inspiration, took credit.

After school, everyone but Duncan and Clemmons left, officially.

Then Logan, Mac, Wallace and I came back in my car and parked on the far side of the school; Weevil parked a half mile away and simply walked back; and Susan Knight parked in the stadium parking lot and she and Carrie hoofed it from there.

From there, we hid inside, and waited by Carrie's locker.

After a couple of hours of waiting – long enough for everyone to get thoroughly bored – Wallace, who was doing guard duty down the hall, called me and told me that someone was coming.

I peered out of the doorway and saw –

Yup.

Our three consistent fools.

For once in my life?

Something was going to be fun.


	42. The Boxer

The best laid plans of Mars and men, alas.

Fortunately, they didn't go completely astray. But randomness interceded at exactly the wrong moment. Right before we were set to leap out and catch our three terrorist/pranksters in the act, a custodian rounded the corner and yelled, "Hey!" What are you kids doing?"

Where the hell had this guy been on Monday and Tuesday?

One of the guys yelled, "Abort!" – like maybe they were going to stick around and pee in Carrie's locker with the custodian standing there watching – and I said, "Get them! Now!"

One of them was running towards us – us being me, Logan, Carrie, and Susan. He slammed on the brakes when we stepped out in front of him and Carrie decked him with a single, nearly professional-looking punch. "Nice work," I said admiringly.

"I kickbox," she said.

At the other end waited Weevil, Wallace, and Mac. Wallace tackled one of them – the one carrying he camera, which Mac reached down and scooped out of his hand – but the other one powered through Weevil and sprinted off down the hall. Weevil cussed and chased after him, joined shortly by the just-arriving Duncan.

"Good tackle," I told Wallace. "I still think you missed a trick not going out for football."

"Please," Mac said. "I did better than that."

"Yeah, but you took down Trina Echolls," I said.

"Trina Echolls with a gun, Mars," she said.

Clemmons showed up in time to watch Duncan and Weevil run off down the hall, then turned to see Wallace sitting on one of the terrorist/pranksters, Carrie standing over the other one daring him to get up, and the custodian asking what the hell was going on.

"Where were you Monday and Tuesday?" Clemmons asked the guy in an exasperated tone. Great. Clemmons and I were starting to think alike. That was a sign. Of what, I wasn't entirely sure, but it wasn't anything good. Before the guy could answer, Clemmons said, "Never mind. Just go to my office and tell the secretary to call the Sheriff's Office."

"You think Lamb'll answer four hours before the debate?"

Clemmons grinned. "Point of fact, Veronica, I think he won't."

Ah. I got it. "Let them up," the vice principal told Wallace and Carrie, and told them to pull off their masks. They did so and it was . . . substantially less dramatic than a Scooby Doo revelation. I couldn't have picked these people out of a lineup.

Clemmons recognized both of them, though. Carrie recognized one as the twin brother of one of Goodman's other victims, and Wallace said to the one he'd tackled, "Man, this is going to get you kicked off the team."

"At the very least," Clemmons said.

"We're heroes," the one Carrie punched said.

"You pissed in lockers," Logan said. "Not exactly going on a quest to throw the One Ring into Mount Doom. But go ahead. Think of yourselves as heroes. The rest of us see you as the jokes you are."

The custodian came down the hall and said, "Deputies are on their way."

A minute or so afterward, Weevil and Duncan came down the hall, frog-marching the third prankster-terrorist ahead of them. I didn't recognize him, either. He had scrapes on his face.

Weevil shoved the man into a locker near where Clemmons was standing. "Gently, Mr. Navarro," the vice principal said.

"Sorry about that," Weevil said, not sounding particularly sorry.

"I think I can overlook it this time," Clemmons said.

"Caught up with the pendejo in the parking lot," Weevil said. "Yelled at him to stop and he didn't so your boy there grabbed him by the waistband and held him up so till I could knock him down and take the fight out of him."

"Thanks, Weevil," I said sincerely.

"Don't mention it, V," he said. "I don't like folks who kick puppies."

"Okay," Clemmons said. "Everyone to my office. And now I know who the three of you are, so if you try running now, it won't do you any good."

They didn't run. Clemmons shut them in the conference room. "You don't all need to stay," he said to me and everyone else once the door was closed. "But it'd be nice if I didn't have to pretend I took them all down with the force of my personality."

Logan opened his mouth and I said, "Not the time."

"Is it ever not the time?" Logan asked.

"If you must," I said.

"Too late. Moment's gone," Logan said with a mock pout.

"I'll stay – but I have to leave by six," I said.

"You probably don't want me around explaining things to the cops," Weevil said.

"I actually didn't do much but make smartass comments," Mac said.

"Which are always helpful." Is aid.

"True," Mac said.

In the end, me, Duncan, Wallace and Carrie stayed, while Susan drove Mac and Logan back to their cars and Weevil, who'd come on foot, was happy to leave the same way.

While we waited for the deputies to arrive, I called Dad to keep him up to date. "Good work," he said when I was done.

"Thanks," I said. "I'll be out of here by six – I've got an important appointment tonight."

"That's right. Doesn't Lost come back tonight?"

"If you can crack jokes at this point, you're going to kick Lamb's ass."

"You doubted me?"

"Not for a second. See you in a few hours."

Wallace was talking to Jackie – refusing to apologize for me nominating him for Homecoming King but still sounding apologetic about it, nice weaseling there, Fennel – and Duncan had permission to go back and work on the Navigator till the deputies actually got there, so that left Carrie and me talking.

First thing we did was call Gia, who wasn't home, and leave her a message that the bad guys had been caught – and who they were. "Thank you," I said, sincerely to Carrie when we hung up. "Gia wouldn't have known who did this without your help."

"You're welcome," she said. ""Really."

"How much damage did they actually do?"

"Not much; trashed a book or two. It's all good, Veronica. It was in a good cause."

"You sure?" I asked. "Because when I said I'd pay for the damages, I meant it."

"I know," she said. "That's why you don't have to." After a second. "I owe you an apology."

"What for?" I asked.

"For being one of the ninety-eight percent or so of people who gave you hell for the last couple of years. You didn't deserve it."

No, I really didn't, but Carrie was trying to be nice and throwing that in her face right now? Seemed counterproductive. "Thank you. There may have been a couple of times when I was bitchy back."

"Most of the time I did deserve it," she said.

"Okay," I said. "We'll go with that." I took a deep breath. "So, are you saying friends?"

"We don't have to be BFFs or anything," she said. "But friendly would be a nice thing." She half-smiled. "Besides, after this, I'm pretty sure everyone's going to assume we're buddies anyway."

"We could come up with some scenario about dueling busts, a comedy of errors, wackiness ensuing . . . "

"Does it let me use my kickboxing skills?"

I blinked. "You really kickbox?"

"Been doing karate since I was 10," she said. "I'm a third dan black belt. Just took up kickboxing last year."

"Impressive," I said, and meant it. "Remind me not to get into a fistfight with you."

We chatted for another five minutes or so, until Sacks walked in, followed by Leo. I sighed. It could have been worse. Sacks was sleazy and mildly corrupt, but he wasn't actually evil, and he wasn't lazy. "Deputies?" Clemmons said. "Over here."

Between the five of us, we explained what had happened . "Should we go pick up Oliveres and Ferrara?" Leo asked. The boys in the conference room were indeed under arrest; we got to watch, though Leo stopped me from taking more than a couple of pictures.

"I'll handle them in house," Clemmons said.

"Good," Sacks said. "Really don't want to have to explain why we're arresting one of Woody Goodman's victims, you know?"

"And by the ol' clock on the wall," I said, "It's time for this Veronica to seek greener pastures. I've got to get going if I want to make the debate."

I'd had the okay to take off since the deputies had walked in, so I left, Duncan promising to get everyone else home or back to their cars, as needed. I dashed home, changed, gulped down some food, and made it to the Neptune Civic Center by 7:15 PM. Lynn was there; so was Logan, Alicia Fennel, the Whitlocks, the Sinclairs, Celeste Kane –

And Jake Kane. Guess his sentence was up. Damn. Guess I couldn't keep track of everything. He actually said, "Hello, Veronica."

I managed to avoid vomiting on his shoes. Doesn't that earn me a spot in Heaven? "Jake Kane. I see you've made it out of the joint."

"I have," he said evenly.

"Guess we should fill you in on the changes that have happened since you've been in the big house," I said.

"No need," he said. "Clarence has already told me everything."

"Prison's hardened you," I said.

"Good chatting with you, Veronica. Wish your father luck for me." Well, the line put a look of severe distaste on Celeste's face, so there was that. Maybe he meant it, a little. Jake wasn't conscienceless; somewhere deep down in that twisted heart of his he probably felt a little bad about getting my father fired and replaced with someone more malleable but a damn sight more incompetent. Most of that was that all of his efforts had been to protect a son who'd never done anything wrong in the first place, and that his coverup was what had landed him in jail, but maybe, a smidgen, deep down?

Naaah. He was probably just being polite. That he could do better than Celeste. Of course, that anyone up to and including Godzilla could do better than Celeste.

By the way, if the way I'm describing this makes it sound less like a debate and more like a society function, you're exactly right. There were cocktails, light snacks, and everything. I mingled for another few minutes before heading back to the back and seeing Dad in his prep area, going over some last-minute prep work with Archie Boudreau.

"You set?" I asked.

"Damn right. Ask me anything."

"What's the capital of Barbados?"

"Bridgetown!"

"I doubt anyone's actually going to ask him that," Archie said.

"Hey, do I criticize the way you get him ready?" I asked.

Archie laughed. "Fair enough."

A TV person stuck their head in the room. "Ten minutes."

"You ready?" Archie asked.

"Yes."

Nothing else needed to be said. We sipped water; I distracted him by telling him a longer version of what had happened today; and he smiled. Archie frowned. "Lamb hung up on Gia Goodman?" he shook his head. "Poor kid. Her father's a douche, but she's innocent. Good for you, Veronica."

"Thanks."

And then the cue came, and Dad walked out onto the stage.

"Get him," I said.

The next hour or so? Would determine the next four years of our lives.

And Dad would handle it beautifully.

Why?

Because I'd taken care of the fighting in the stands already.

Dad could handle what was going on the field.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The idea of Carrie Bishop being a kickboxer is a random conceit of mine with no basis in canon or reality. One can imagine a somewhat dissolute Carrie years down the road having forgotten her training after years of living like she did, in the movie 'verse; but one should note, this isn't the movie 'verse, and never will be.


End file.
